What If
by Lennelle
Summary: What if Mary had never checked on Sam that night? Sam and Dean never grew up as hunters and are oblivious to the supernatural but when Sam's girlfriend dies he starts to realize he isn't like everyone else, heading on a downward spiral, he is pulled into a world of demons and monsters and Dean is left to save him. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Sam walked back to his apartment at a relaxed pace, having just spent a few hours at Stanford's library to prepare for his interview the next morning. He was tired, bone-tired in fact, but he decided not to rush home to bed. Jess would probably be asleep now anyway.

It was a warm night, as it usually was in California, and the night sky was blue-black, illuminated by the city's street light. He came to the corner of his street and hauled his bag more securely onto his shoulder where the weight of his books dug in.

He hesitated a moment to stare at a flickering street lamp. Something about it bothered him; it reminded him of his dreams lately. He shook his head, not wanting think about that. They were just dreams.

Sam hopped up the stairs, two at a time, and swung the heavy doors of his apartment building open. The lights were on, illuminating the stairwell in near-white light. He made his way to the second floor, pulling his keys out of his pocket and gripping them tight to keep them from jangling. He pushed the right one carefully into the lock and opened his apartment door.

It was dark inside and Sam was greeted with a plate of cookies and a note, written in his girlfriend's busy handwriting. He always loved that about Jess, the way she scrawled everything down quickly so that it was almost unintelligible. Sam could always read her writing, even when sometimes she couldn't.

He carefully placed his keys in a blue bowl by the door and picked up the note.

_You'll be great tomorrow. Love you._

Sam smiled and grabbed a cookie. It was warm and he wondered how long ago Jess had made them. He tiptoed to the bedroom and pushed the door open, peering around.

"Jess?" he whispered. The bed was empty and neatly made, a small stream of light fell into the room through the open bathroom door, he could hear shower water splashing rhythmically.

He took another bite of his cookie and smiled. Jess was a good baker. He let himself flop onto the bed and shut his eyes, folding his arms behind his head. He could feel himself drifting off when something warm and wet splashed on his forehead. He twitched uncomfortably and felt it happen again.

Sam opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling, and felt the colour drain from his face. Jess was on the ceiling, her blonde curls spread out around her as though she were lying down. Her silk nightdress was soaked red and her face was fixed in terror, mouth open in shock and eyes wide.

"Jess!" Sam cried out, reaching up as though he could just pull her back down then everything would be fine. He knew that wouldn't happen, he knew how this would end. Just like he'd seen time and time again the ceiling erupted in sudden flames and engulfed Jess, all the while she made no sound, and she didn't move a muscle. Sam just screamed, frozen to the bed.

"No!" he yelled as the fire crept down the walls, catching onto the bed covers. He felt the flamed lick at his arm, spreading white hot pain through him but all he could do was stare up at Jess as she burned, as he cried out her name.

He didn't notice being pulled out the room, someone with strong hands yanked him away.

"Come on, Sam!" he could hear his friend Brady shout at him as he pulled him from the apartment and into the smoke filled hallway. He was being pulled away from the fire, away from Jess and he tugged at Brady's hands and tried to get back the apartment, back to Jess.

He could barely see anything through the thick smoke, it filled his lungs and he choked. He could smell burning, like burnt meat and he gagged. He doubled over and felt a sharp pain on the side of his head before being dragged into smoky blackness.

Sam woke in a haze, coughing and gagging at the rawness in his throat, trying to spit up the bits of ash, bits of Jess, which had gotten into his lungs. He was lying on something soft. He could feel cool grass on his skin and winced at the pain which burned on his arm.

"Sir?" he blinked away tears from his stinging eyes and saw a figure crouched over him, "Can you hear me, Sir?"

Sam nodded and swallowed back the dryness in his throat, "Jess…"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, "Calm down, Sir, we're going to get you to hospital."

Sam blinked his eyes clearer, taking in the sight around him. It was all flashing lights and sirens, firemen hosing down his apartment building, extinguishing the last of the flames. There was a crowd of onlookers, some gasping at the burned building and some staring pitifully at Sam.

He noticed medics were with him, poking and prodding, asking what hurts. Sam tried to push them away but he had no energy and had no choice but to let them haul him onto a stretcher. Sam's mind blank with grief when he saw a black body bag being carried from the building.

He leaned back and shut his eyes, ignoring the medic's questions and he let himself cry; ugly, wet crying which felt like it wouldn't stop. The journey to the hospital was a blur, it felt like minutes and hours all at the same time.

At hospital, he was rushed down corridors, he could feel the heat of his own breath in the oxygen mask he wore. His skin hurt, dry and dirty and streaked with tears. Some nurses spent some time bandaging his burned arm and stitching up the broken skin on his head, speaking soothingly to him, asking him questions.

"What's your name?" He didn't answer. He didn't answer any of their questions.

He was given some medication for the pain, a couple of white pills, that he took without question and he was left to rest in a bed, swapping his smoke covered clothes for a hospital gown.

He woke up again when the sun was rising, casting small strips of light through the blinds. For a moment his mouth almost curved into a smile, nervous for the interview he had that day, wanting to turn over and kiss Jess good morning. But he remembered what had happened, a harsh memory barging into his mind, and remembered he wasn't going to the interview anymore, he wasn't going to kiss Jess either.

It was a strange sensation when your head pounded with a blinding ache and your arm was searing with burns but at the same time he felt nothing. He was numb. He lay still for a while, not sure what to do when he had an empty hole gaping in his chest.

After a while he felt trapped under the thin hospital blankets and he kicked them off impatiently, swinging his legs over the bed and grabbing his IV, rolling it to the door with him.

Through all the fussing and questions and medical stuff, Sam could remember that his doctor had told him that he was lucky to get out of a fire like that with just a concussion and just one burn.

_Yeah… lucky_.

Sam's legs felt like jelly but he stepped out into the hallway, spying a nurse's station nearby and he made his way to it. He stared at the bandage on his left arm, wrapped around his palm and winding up to his elbow. He wondered what the skin looked like beneath it.

A nurse looked up with wide eyes when she saw Sam.

"Sir, you should be resting."

"I know," Sam replied dully and sighed, "Look, I just want a minute to walk around, I'll go back after I swear."

She smiled at him sympathetically, "We never got a name for you, you didn't have any ID on you," she got up and wheeled a chair around the desk and helped him sit down.

"Sam," he told her, not looking up.

"Okay, Sam, do you mind filling something out?" she peered at him kindly from across the desk, fishing through papers, "I thought you might want to distract yourself with something."

Sam nodded. He liked the sound of that, thinking about anything but _that_ was a good thing, and he took a pen and a piece of paper from her.

"They're not difficult questions," she assured him, "Just name and birthday kind of thing. We can call your family too if you like."

Sam nodded, reading through the questionnaire. He doubted the patients did this for themselves normally but he liked the distraction, he like having something to do.

He went through it quite quickly, filling in his name, birthday, and next of kin. He noticed his hand shaking as he pressed ink onto the paper, resulting in an unrecognizable scrawl compared to his usual neat hand. The nurse seemed to notice his shaking because when he looked up she whipped he gaze away. He handed it back with severe concentration not to drop it but the nurse smiled again when she took back the paper, scanning the sheet.

"I can call your parents," she offered, "Tell them what's happened."

"Is it okay if I call?" Sam asked, the nurse furrowed her brow, "Please, I want to talk to my Mom."

Her face softened when she noticed his voice crack and she nodded, dialing the number on the sheet and handing him the phone. Sam cleared his throat and wiped a watery eye with the back of his good hand before placing the phone to his ear. It rang five times before it picked up.

"Hello?" A tired voice came through.

"Mom…" Sam felt the strain in his voice again and cut himself off.

"Sam?" there was worry in her voice, "Are you okay? It's... 5am."

"I'm… I'm okay, Mom," he whispered, trying to blink away oncoming tears, "I… er… I'm in hospital right now."

He could here fumbling at the other end and his Dad's muffled voice in the background, "What is it, Mary?"

"Oh God, Sam," his mother gasped, "What's happened? Are you okay?"

She sounded frantic and Sam gave a small laugh over his tears.

"There was a… uh… a fire," he began, hearing his Mom's breath catching on the other end, "I'm fine," he added quickly, "I… I'm a bit banged up but I'm okay."

He couldn't help it, the tears fell and he was sobbing. He could hear his own voice muffled on the phone and his mother's voice calling his name. He felt a small hand squeeze his shoulder lightly and he was handed a tissue. Sam wiped his face hastily and let out a deep breath.

"Sam?" His mother was asking over and over, "Please, Sam, speak to me!"

"It's Jess, Mom," he managed to choke up, "She's dead."

He dropped his head into his bandaged hand, ignoring to pain welling up as he clutched the phone to his ear. He remembered seeing Jess burn, he saw her body being taken away, he heard the cop tell him what had happened but he never believed it fully until it came out of his own mouth.

"Oh God, Sam…" he could hear his mom crying on the other end, there was a scrambling sound too, like clothes being pulled on with one hand, "We're coming down right now to get you, I promise."

Sam nodded, his bangs hanging over his red-rimmed eyes, "Mom?"

"Yes, Sammy?"

"Can you get Dean," he sobbed again, "I need to see him."

"Of course," she breathed. Sam hung up the phone before she could say anything else. He couldn't handle talking to her anymore; he couldn't handle anything right now. He just nodded 'thanks' to the nurse and practically stumbled in the direction of his room, he didn't make it far before some other nurses were easing him into a wheelchair and pushing him back towards his bed.

Sam couldn't breath, he felt like he was going to throw up and he was hot, too hot. He was going to die. Something wasn't right.

He didn't remember much after that, everything went fuzzy, swirling with dark spots before dark spots was all he could see.

* * *

><p>It was more than a days drive from Lawrence to Stanford. Dean sat in the back of his dad's car, an old blue thing with plenty space, a family vehicle. John used to have a black Impala but he gave it to Dean for his sixteenth birthday, it had been one of the best days of his life.<p>

Today was one of the worst. There hadn't been much talking during the drive, they only stopped for bathroom breaks, eating in the car whatever his mother had grabbed before they left, mostly dad's protein bars and what had to be his mom's entire fruit bowl.

Dean had gotten a call from his mom in the early morning; he had just gotten out the shower and managed to pick up on the last ring. He had planned to go to work that morning at dad's auto shop, probably call in on Sammy to check how his interview went and later he was going to go for dinner with a girl he'd met in a bar.

He didn't expect they'd be hightailing it halfway across the country to get to his little brother who'd just lost his girlfriend to a horrific fire.

"How much longer, John?" Mary asked for the hundredth time.

"I'm going as fast as I can," he sighed, "We've got about an hour left."

"Mom, have you called the hospital again? Maybe he can talk now," Dean wondered. His mother had been dialing frantically to hear anything at all. Mostly she got nothing. Sam was resting, apparently, or he was having an exam. She never got through to Sam, not since he'd broken down over the phone and hung up. He hadn't even said when exactly he was and she had to use caller ID to find out.

"I'll do that now," she pulled out her phone and dialled again, tapping her finger impatiently against the window.

"Yes, hello, this is Mary Winchester again," she recited the words she'd spoken over and over for the past day, "I was wondering how Sam is," she waited a moment, nodding, "Okay… I see," more nodding, "We should be there in about an hour… okay… thank you."

"What?" Dean leaned forward, "Is he okay?"

"The nurse said the same," Mary shook her head irritably, "He's fine, he's speaking to a councilor then he'll be resting."

Dean noticed her bite her lip, something she did when she was really anxious. Dean fell back into his seat and flipped his phone open, scrolling down his contacts. He stopped on Jess' name and sighed. He had never actually called Jess; they had each other's numbers in case of an emergency, if anything happened to Sam.

Dean didn't have the heart to delete her name, he hadn't known her well but she had been a sweet girl, funny, and they had a good time during the few times they had met. But he could see how much Sam loved her and how much she had made him happy and now she was gone.

That last hour was the hardest; it seemed to drag on forever. By the time John pulled into the parking lot Dean was out the door before the car had even stopped. He ran through the doors, almost slamming into the front desk, his mother close on his heals.

"Where's Sam?" Dean demanded, as if the poor nurse was supposed to know what was going on. John appeared at Dean's side and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back.

"We're here to see our son, Sam Winchester," John said gruffly, "He came in just over a day ago."

The nurse nodded, dialling on her telephone, muttering something into it, glancing up now and then to the anxious-looking family before hanging up.

"The doctor is on her way," she told them brightly and indicated to the chairs behind them, "If you could just take a seat."

"Take a seat?" Dean barked, the nurse flinched, "I've been sitting all day, lady!"

"Dean," his father warned him and Dean let his mother pull him away, sighing in defeat. He took her hand as they sat.

They waited about twenty minutes before a brunette woman appeared, young but quite serious looking, she had a white lab coat over a blue dress and a chart tucked under her arm. She looked very professional, Dean thought and was on his feet before she opened her mouth.

"Samuel Winchester's family," she called, catching sight of them and signalling for them to follow.

She shook each of their hands and set off at a quick pace.

"I'm doctor Martin," she introduced herself as they walked down a corridor. She pulled to a stop in front of an elevator, pressing the button to go up, "I've been treating Sam since he arrived."

The doors opened and she stepped inside, the Winchesters followed.

"Sam burned his left arm in the fire," she told them, "It wasn't serious but it will take some time to heal, meaning he gets the good pain medication, so it's likely he'll be more tired than usual. He hit his head too, we had to give him stitches but luckily he only suffered a mild concussion which he's recovering from well. I'm keeping an eye on his breathing as he inhaled a bit of smoke_"

The doors opened and she stepped out, ponytail swinging behind her.

"We're sure he'll be alright but he'll have a nasty cough for a while," she continued as they headed down the corridor.

She stopped outside an office and held the door open for them. They each took a seat in the small office. It was very plain, except for the small cactus plant on the window sill. The doctor took her seat at her desk, setting her chart down and bringing her hands together.

"Physically, Sam is going to be fine," she assured them, and Dean squeezed his mother's hand.

The doctor's voice turned serious, "However, he has just experienced something extremely distressing. I have been keeping an eye on him and found it necessary to bring a psychiatric specialist in."

"Wait," Dean cut across, "Psychiatric as in mental?"

The doctor raised an eyebrow at him but turned to his parents, "I wouldn't worry about psychotics however during the short time Sam has been here he has been very unresponsive, not eating, not talking much. I would monitor his sleep pattern too if it weren't for his medication. It's very understandable considering what's happened to him but I have worries of him developing depression."

Dean caught the way his mother's eyes were glistening and his dad wrapped an arm around her with a sigh.

"Depression is far more common than you'd think," the doctor told them, "But I just think it's important that you keep an eye out for the signs."

She shuffled through her drawer and handed Mary a leaflet. She turned it over in her hands. _Coping with depression in the family_.

"Now, I'm not giving Sam a diagnosis but that should give you an idea of what to look out for," she smiled at them briefly, "Finally, I want you to know that I think it's fine to sign him out and take him home in a couple of days, however, you should know about some things which occurred before you arrived. Sam experienced a severe panic attack the morning after he arrived, we were forced to calm him down and sedate him, to steady his breathing mostly. He was fine yesterday and slept most of the night, however, a couple of hours ago he had a nightmare and was very panicked when he woke up, he hit one of our staff and we had to sedate him again."

"Sam?" Dean looked at his parents, disbelief on both their faces, "The same Sam that cried when he was ten because a bee stung him but he was upset that the _bee _had died?"

"Traumatic experiences effect people in different ways," she assured them, "I want to watch out for PTSD but again it's difficult to make a diagnosis so soon after what's happened. I think he'll be fine to go home with you in a matter of days, once the sedation wears off a bit more and he's a bit more healed up. I also advise that you make an appointment at a hospital near your home to check on him but I think, physically, he'll make a full recovery."

Her face softened and she gave them a sympathetic smile, "I honestly think being with family is the best thing for him right now. I'll give you some fresh bandages which you should be able to help him change and I'll prescribe some medication for him."

She stood up and the Winchester's mirrored her as she made her way to the door.

"How did you get here?"

"By car," Dean told her, no one else seemed to want to speak.

"That should be fine," she nodded approvingly, "Make sure you have plenty of breaks, to change his bandages and give him medication, watch out for nausea too. I'll give you my number too if you need to ask me anything."

She stopped outside a private room and put her hand on the door handle.

"He's still quite sedated so if he's a bit out of it I wouldn't worry," she turned the handle and pushed it open, "I'll be in my office if you need anything."

She disappeared down the corridor and Dean pushed through the door after his parents. Mary went straight to Sam's side, who was frowning at them in confusion, and stroked his hair away from his forehead, revealing stitches. John took a seat at the end of the bed and patted his sons foot.

"Hey, Sam," he said in the most comforting way his gruff voice would allow.

Dean pulled a chair up to the bedside, scraping the legs noisily as he did. Sam didn't seem to notice and he blinked sleepily.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, patting Sam's shoulder gently. Sam turned his head to the side and gave Dean a drunken grin.

"Dean," he said groggily, "Dean-o"

He laughed at himself and Dean smiled, trying not to laugh at his high-as-a-kite little brother.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Awesome," Sam blinked hard again, like he had just figure out the meaning of life, "I feel… really… awesome."

"They got you on some good stuff, huh?"

"Oh yeah," he nodded, turning to his mother, "Mom… hey."

He laughed again and Mary smiled, stroking his hair still.

"Hey," she whispered and kissed him on the cheek. Sam didn't seem to notice. He shut his eyes and smiled.

"I'm gonna go away now… don't go far… okay?"

"We're not going anywhere, Sammy."

"Cool… hey… don't dream it…"

"Dream what?" Mary sat down, still stroking his hair, she looked to John who shrugged in confusion.

"The thing I dream… don't want it… not anymore…" he shrugged lazily, "It happens…sometimes."

"Okay..." Dean said hesitantly, "Just go to sleep, alright?"

Dean could see an almost nod from his brother then he was fast asleep, completely out of it. Mary looked at Dean with deep worry in her eyes.

"He'll be fine, Mom," Dean took her hand, "He doesn't know what he's talking about right now."

Mary nodded and sat back, taking Sam's uninjured hand. Dean sank into his chair, glancing at his dad who was fast asleep after hours of nonstop driving.

Sam would be fine. So long as they looked after him. Only a couple more days before they could take him home.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed. Leave a review if you have a moment, I'd love to know what you think!<strong>

**Also, I am not a medical expert so I apologize if there are mistakes.**


	2. Chapter 2

Sam woke with that empty pain again; the one Jessica had left behind. There were no nightmares, not that night, everything was just blank. He opened his eyes to the mundane sight of his hospital room, lit by the early morning sun which fell through the blinds.

His arm was burning again and he had an overwhelming desire to pull off his bandages and scratch. He twisted with an uncomfortable groan in his bed and found his mother curled up on a chair at his bed side. She was waking, lifting her head from the hand she'd been resting it on and smiled.

"Hey, Sammy," she stroked his cheek.

"Mom?" Sam's voice was barely a rasp and he cleared his throat, "When did you get here."

"Last night," Dean spoke from his other side and Sam turned his head to see his brother adjusting himself in his chair, "You were pretty out of it, guess you don't remember, huh?"

Sam shook his head and jolted when his dad patted his foot.

"Drove all day to get here," he told his son. Sam just nodded, hoping to look grateful and let himself fall back into his pillow with a sigh.

"When can I leave?" he asked, staring at the ceiling. Sam hated hospitals, or anything medical for that matter, he avoided them whenever he could. Once he had tonsillitis so bad he couldn't even talk and still he would say he was fine until Jess finally forced him to go to a doctor.

Jess.

Sam shut his eyes at the memory, hoping it would stop any tears from falling. It wasn't a particularly happy or sad memory, it was just Jess. Everything reminded him of her, of her eyes and her curls and the way she quirked up one side of her mouth when she smiled. Then he remembered her bleeding, screaming silently, flames engulfing her.

Sam gasped and his mother clutched his hand. He opened his eyes to see her pale face, filled with worry.

"Er… the doc said you can come home with us in a couple days," Dean finally managed to speak. He'd noticed his brother's freak out, or whatever it was, they all did but he didn't want to make a big deal out of it, at least not in front of Sam.

Sam was thankful for Dean, the way he could shift attention to himself. Throughout high school it had been the most annoying thing, but right now it made Sam feel less like a charity case.

The rest of the day was filled with his mother casting worried looks in Sam's direction every five minutes. She asked him if he was hungry, thirsty, cold, hot, or even if he needed to go to the bathroom. She offered to go buy his favourite foods.

"Are you sure you're not hungry? Maybe it's just hospital food," she offered, "I could go buy you something, anything you want."

Sam said no to everything. He was fine.

His dad had been mostly quiet, only expressing something if Sam looked his way, which wasn't too often. John would get up a lot, pace around the room or look out the window. At one point he disappeared, returning with a nod of accomplishment at his wife.

Dean made jokes, mostly dirty ones, like he used to do when they were kids, only this time neither of them laughed. They just gave each other half-hearted smiles. He would distract their mom too, with any kind of story, funny or happy or embarrassing. Sam thought he did it to keep her worried attention away from Sam, so she'd stop asking questions. Sam was thankful, he didn't feel like talking.

The day came quickly when Doctor Martin had come to Sam's room with a smile.

"One last check up, Sam, and then we should be signing your papers for you to leave," she spoke very brightly around him. Sam returned with the most genuine smile he could, to be polite, mostly.

She checked his stitches, smiling with approval, before she started to trace her finger out before him; Sam had to meet her finger with his own. He passed all of her tests. No more concussion apparently, Doctor Martin was pleased. When she pressed the cold metal of her stethoscope to his chest, she told him to give deep breaths and cough when she said. She looked even more pleased when they were done.

She finally moved around to Sam's left side and took his arm gently. Sam could feel his family's eyes on him as the doctor began to slowly remove the gauze bandage.

Sam heard his mother stifle a gasp once his arm was free. He could feel the fresh air on it and it actually felt quite good. Sam glanced at it for the first time, seeing the shining pink skin that decorated him from hand to elbow, some patches were darker red and the whole thing looked sticky but Sam let out a sigh of relief. He'd been expecting blackened flesh and exposed bone based on the pain it gave him.

"It looks good," the doctor reassured Mary, "It's a minor burn, though it covers a large area. But it shows to be healing how I'd like it to. It needs to be redressed every three to five days, do it just as you see me do it now. It will take around fourteen days to heal and you should have some small scaring."

She turned back to Sam, "I've got some rules for you, okay? You should keep this arm out of the sun; it'll risk blistering if you do. I'm advising this for at least a year, but overall, protect yourself from sun damage. I recommend covering it with cotton clothing. Don't scratch it, no matter how much you want to, and don't try to sooth it with anything, no creams or ice. I'll prescribe you pain medication for it, it wont take all the pain away but it will help, and you'll likely feel drowsy for the short time you take it."

Sam nodded. He watched as she redressed his arm with fresh gauze, when she was done she laid his hand on the bed and finished speaking.

"Finally, if you notice any sign of infection or blistering, go to hospital straight away. Same goes if anything else feels worse," she caught Mary's anxious face and added, "This is just a precaution, he's doing great."

She stood up, "Mr and Mrs Winchester, if you'd come with me, I'd like to talk about referral to a doctor in Lawrence."

Mary got up, not before planting a kiss on Sam's cheek, and she followed after John and Doctor Martin, the door clicking shut behind them.

"Just you and me, Sammy," Dean gave him a stupid grin and ruffled his hair. Sam flinched away, irritated, and Dean laughed.

"Get off," Sam scowled, "You're such an ass sometimes."

"I thought you loved the hair ruffle," Dean countered innocently, "I did it all the time when we were kids."

"Yeah, Dean, _kids._ I'm twenty two now. Not exactly a little kid anymore."

"I know, Sammy," Dean's voice softened, "You're still my little brother though."

Sam twitched a smile.

"Hey! I saw that," Dean pointed out enthusiastically, "I knew you had it in you."

Sam turned to see his brother gazing at him, his eyes shining.

"I mean it, Sammy, it's good to see you smile. Even if it was as half-assed as that one."

Before things turned too chick-flick for Sam's liking, their parents returned, Mary carrying a couple of shopping bags, she set them on the table at Sam's feet.

"You're all set to go," she told him, smiling, "I sent your dad out to get you new clothes because_"

She cut herself off and Sam felt that hole in his chest gape wider.

"Because all my stuff burned with my girlfriend?" he finished. He regretted it as soon as he saw the look on his mother's face, she was hurt. Dean looked shocked and his dad, well, his dad looked angry.

"_Sam,_" he growled. Sam sighed.

"Sorry," Sam apologised, "I didn't mean it. I'm grateful, I am."

He dropped his head when his mother muttered her forgiveness.

"Nothing to apologise for," she said. They all herded out of the room to give Sam privacy to change. He fished through the bags and took out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a cotton hoody. He dressed, ignoring the sound of his family muttering their concerns from the hallway, and pulled the hood up so it practically covered half his face.

The car journey home was a quiet one. Sam was stuffed in the back seat next to Dean, his long legs bent uncomfortably as he pressed himself against the window. He'd pulled his hood as far over his face as he could and stuffed his headphones in his ears, his Ipod had been in his jacket pocket when the fire happened and was the only thing he had left of his life in Stanford. His fingers gripped the music player as if it might disappear.

Sam shut his eyes, trying to drown out the car's vibrations and the feeling of his mother's eyes staring at him in the rear view mirror.

* * *

><p>When they finally pulled over at a motel, Dean was eager to stretch his legs. It was dark and the only lights were those of cars as they flew down the highway like shooting stars. Dean hopped out, groaning with relief as he shook his legs awake. His dad trudged off towards the motel to book a couple of rooms while his mother made for the trunk to get their bags. She gave Dean a nod, indicating to the back seat where his little brother slept, and followed John.<p>

Dean ducked back into the car and nudged Sam's shoulder, his brother woke with a start, his eyes shooting around wildly as his bolted upright, panting. He calmed down almost immediately and fell back against the seat with a groan.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Sam just nodded before peering out from under his hood and glancing out the window.

"Woah. What time is it?" he pulled back his hood and scratched his head.

"About eight," Dean glanced at his watch. Sam slipped out his side of the car and leaned over the roof.

"When did I fall asleep?"

"An hour after we left," Dean shut the doors and locked up, "You've been asleep all day, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Okay, _Sam_, come on then," Dean ignored his brother's bitch face, having decided already that Sam had free pass, and took his shoulder, leading him toward the motel. Their mother was waiting outside the reception and hugged Sam as soon as she saw him. Sam returned the hug with an awkward pat and pulled away.

"Thanks, mom, but is it really necessary."

Mary just smiled, stroking his shoulder, "We've got a couple rooms," she spoke mostly to Dean, "Your dad went to get a table at the diner next door."

The diner was very 1950s America complete with Cola posters and roller skating waitresses. John greeted them at their booth and yanked Sam's hood off his head.

"You can't wear that thing all the time, Sam," he patted his son on the back, a sensitive gesture coming from John.

An overly-enthusiastic looking girl glided over to hand out menus, blushing when she gave one to Sam. Dean noticed her eyeing his brother from behind the counter as they chose their food.

Sam didn't pay much attention to anything, he seemed like he would have rather been anywhere else, and hunched himself over his menu, clearly not reading it.

"Hey, Sam, they've got salads here," Dean said encouragingly. Sam just shrugged and the rest of the family cast short glances at one another.

The waitress returned with a note pad and pen in hand, beaming so hard her cheeks must have hurt.

"What can I get you?" she spoke in a sing-song voice.

Dean placed his usual order of a cheeseburger with extra fries, his father went for steak while his mother chose pasta.

"And you?" she turned to Sam. He didn't look up, still bent over the table; his hood had flipped back over his head. She fidgeted awkwardly on her skates and Dean sighed, sending a small kick under the table. Sam shot up, glancing around.

"What?" he asked, as though they were giving him dirty looks.

"What can I get you?" the waitress asked again, smile plastered on her face again, she tipped her head to the side causing her pigtails to bounce.

"Oh… uh, I'll have," he drew out his words as he glanced at the menu, "Regular salad and water."

He slammed it shut and thrust the menu at the waitress, her constant-smile flickering to shock briefly as she took the rest of their menus. Dean caught a quick glance at it before it was gone.

"Regular salad and water?" Dean glared at Sam, "You just picked the first two things on the menu."

"So?" Sam glared back, "Maybe I wanted the first two things on the menu."

Dean was about to shoot back before their father cut across them.

"You two need to cut it out," he turned to Sam, "And you didn't have to be so rude to that waitress. I understand that you're having a hard time but you don't need to take it out on other people."

Sam bit his lip, smiling irritably as he shook his head.

"You know what?" he said, pushing out of the booth, "I really don't need to listen to this. I really don't need a therapy session from you, any of you. I'm fine."

He disappeared to the restroom and when Dean made to follow, his mother gently pulled him back to his seat.

"Give him a minute," she told him before turning to her husband, "And you shouldn't have handled it like that, John."

"He's not being himself, Mary, he_"

"He saw his girlfriend _die_ three _days _ago."

John shut himself up.

By the time Sam came back their food had been there for five minutes and Dean was already halfway through his burger, Sam seated himself before his salad and commenced prodding it with his fork.

"You trying to kill it?" Dean asked through a mouthful of fries. He shot his brother a goofy smile and got an awkward on in return as Sam shoved a forkful of lettuce into his mouth before chugging down half of his water.

"Wait!" Mary piped up and Sam stopped drinking, she rummaged through her bag before pulling out a small orange bottle and uncapped it, handing Sam the right amount of pills. Sam tossed them into his mouth and washed them down. He only ate another forkful of salad before he pushed back his plate.

"Sam, try eating a bit more," his mother encouraged as John paid at the counter.

"Not hungry," Sam shrugged, "Besides we're leaving now."

He got up before swaying slightly, grabbing the booth for support. Dean was there in a flash, an arm around his brother's shoulder.

"Easy, speedy Gonzales, doc said you have to stand slow while you're on those pills."

He led his brother out with Mary on Sam's other arm, John went ahead to open their door, holding it open as they entered the room.

"You okay, son," John asked. Sam nodded, blinking sleepily.

"I'm good," he said, "A bit tired."

The lowered him onto the bed and he immediately leaned into the pillows, closing his eyes.

"Hey, Sam, you gonna get changed?" Dean patted his brother's cheek, smiling at Sam's frown.

"Stop that," he mumbled, falling asleep with his mouth open slightly.

"The doctor said the pills would make him sleepy but I didn't think he'd be out like that," she fumbled in her bag for the pills again, "He slept all day too."

She pulled on her glasses, reading the section on side-effects.

"Mom, stop worrying," Dean whispered over his brother's sleeping form, "He'll be fine."

Mary frowned but continued reading, muttering as she did.

"Dizziness, drowsiness, nausea, sweating, confusion, headaches, disturbed sleep, mood changes…"

She huffed, shoving it back in her bag.

"I thought these were meant to make him feel better," she hissed, gesturing at Sam dramatically, "Not pile on a tonne of other symptoms. And this thing says 'mood changes'. I thought we were supposed to be watching out for…" she lowered her voice even more, glancing at her youngest, "depression not giving him capsules full of mood swings!"

She sighed, dropping her face in her hands. John moved out of the shadows and pulled his wife into his chest.

"Dean's right, Mary," he assured her, "He's only just come out of hospital, it'll take some time."

"I know," Mary pulled away and sniffed, nodding her head, "It's just hard to see him like this."

"Yeah," Dean whispered in agreement, mostly to himself. "Look, mom, I'll watch out for him, you should get some rest."

She straightened herself out, nodding, and headed for the door. John followed her, casting a quick glance at his boys on his way out.

Dean shifted onto the other bed in the room, lying back. He'd been determined to stay awake in case Sam needed him but at some point he drifted off, the whir of cars on the road lulling him to sleep.

In the morning Sam looked pale and he had a slight sheen of sweat on his brow. Dean had shot off to the bathroom before his little brother could even say 'good morning' and rushed back with a damp towel. He put his hand to Sam's forehead.

"Dude, stop manhandling me," the youngest whined.

"Quit moaning, Sammy," Dean ordered before wiping his brother's face, Sam seemed to have given up and let him do it, which worried Dean even more.

"You don't have a temperature," he spoke tried to get a good look at Sam's face, "Do you feel hot."

"No," Sam was starting to get irritated, it was obvious when he began to harden each word, "Dean, I'm fine. Just let me get washed up then we can get on the road."

Dean shrugged reasonably, watching his brother click the bathroom door shut behind him. He packed their bags while Sam was washing, shoving new clothes, still tagged, into Sam's new backpack. When his brother returned, he was clean and had changed into fresh clothes. Sam plucked his Ipod off the table and plugged himself in, settling himself into his seat when they reached the car.

They'd been driving for a few hours when Dean noticed an uncomfortable expression on his brother's face; Sam squirmed in his seat, pressing his eyes closed tight.

"Sammy?" But his brother couldn't hear him over the music blasting in his ears. Dean reached over and yanked the head phones out. Sam stared up at him, startled, and pressed his lips together as his chest flinched.

"Pull over!" Dean almost yelled and Mary swerved the car onto the side of the road. Sam scrambled at the door and fell half way out before retching, emptying his stomach contents onto the dirt. He gagged and choked for a minute before he finally stopped and Dean pulled him back into the car, handing him a bottle of water. Sam took a sip, sloshing it around his mouth before spitting it out, and took another longer drink.

"That sucked," he gasped. Dean patted his brother's shoulder as he silently ticked off the side effects Sam had experienced: dizziness, sleepiness, sweating, nausea…

They pulled back onto the road drove another few hours before Sam started blinking hard. Dean noticed his brother's head lolling forward every few seconds before he'd jolt back up again and soon he was slipping sideways and Dean caught him, gently lowering his head onto his lap. He'd have to put up with Sam's whining about it later. For the moment, though, Dean felt good. He hadn't seen his little brother much over the last few years while Sam was at Stanford. And though they'd been inseparable as children, they had drifted apart slightly as teens, Dean had been popular and outgoing where Sam had been quiet and hardworking. They had discovered they didn't have a huge amount in common as they grew up, but Dean had always loved his brother and he had never been more proud than when Sam had gotten a full-ride to Stanford University. They'd gotten a bit closer when Sam left, calling each other often but it wasn't the same as seeing each other, Dean had cherished the holidays.

He put his hand on Sam's head gently, reminding him of when his tiny brother would slip under his covers at night, scared of the monster in his closet. Dean sighed, realising how much he'd missed having Sam around.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to SPN mum, souless666 and Green Apple Princess for reviewing.<strong>

**I know it's all sick/hurt!Sam at the moment but I promise the actions coming soon!**

**Also, please review! I really like to hear from you!**


	3. Chapter 3

Sam woke up with a sigh. He was sore, his body was twisted, his hips restricted by the seatbelt. The rumble of the car beneath his body did nothing for his growing nausea but he felt nowhere near as sick as he had earlier, so he held onto the hope of avoiding another stop to chuck his insides back up. He kept his eyes closed and let himself breathe through it and he was pleased when he started to feel somewhat normal again. He shifted his body into a more comfortable position before noticing that whatever his head was resting on was definitely not the back seat of their car.

He opened his eyes and glanced up to find his older brother flashing him his most irritating smile.

"Morning, sleeping beauty!" Dean greeted him with a cheerful tone. Sam sighed. Annoying.

"Dean."

"Yep?"

"Why am I lying on you?"

His big brother couldn't seem to wipe that stupid grin off his face and Sam hauled himself off Dean's lap and sank back against the car door.

"You practically fell on me, Sammy, didn't want to wake you up so I just left you to it."

Sam groaned and rubbed his eyes, "Well, now my neck hurts," he took a bottle of water from the pack his dad had left by his feet and took a long drink. He peered out the window with a puzzled look and realised they had left the highway and were now heading down the familiar roads of Lawrence.

"Jesus, I guess I slept a long time," he wasn't asking a question but his mother spoke up from behind the wheel.

"Oh yeah," she smiled at him in the rear view mirror, "Like a baby."

"Makes me wonder what the doctor's giving me," Sam gave a half-hearted laugh but he noticed his mother's face drop. In fact, the mood of the entire car dropped.

"About that, Sammy," Mary spoke with that were-worried-about-you tone, "I'm not sure I like the way those pills affect you. We've been talking and_"

"Wait a second," Sam cut her off, "We? You mean you're discussing stuff about me? When? When I'm asleep?"

"Sammy," his dad finally cut in, "Your mother's right. Surely you don't like the way the medication is affecting you."

"No I don't," Sam was getting frustrated now, "But is it not something you should talk to me about? I mean, they're my pills, you know, _for me_. Besides the doctor said there'd be side effects and I don't care because it takes away the pain, they actually help. And at least now I can actually get some sleep!"

There was a moments silence and Sam hadn't really noticed how he had raised his voice. They were pulling into their driveway when Dean finally said something.

"Wait, what do you mean about getting some sleep?"

Sam was pissed. Sure, his family worried about him, honestly, Sam worried about himself, but weren't they supposed to talk to him about stuff like this? Not whisper about it whenever he was out cold. No, definitely not. What annoyed Sam was the way they seemed to think he was too _fragile_ to even been considered a part of a conversation which was about _him_.

"Nothing," Sam finally mumbled an answer and he hauled himself out of the car, stretching his legs on the driveway. He leaned against the car door for a moment before knocking on the window, "You guys coming or what?"

He grabbed his backpack, full of new clothes and, well, nothing else. He didn't have anything that hadn't been burned to a crisp. He waited until one of the car doors opened before trudging ahead to wait by the front door of their house. His mother got there first and pulled out her keys, letting him in.

Sam stood in the hallway for a moment, taking in the house he grew up in. It was odd, his apartment with Jess was starting to feel like home and now it was gone and he was back where he started. John wanted Sam and his brother to take over his shop one day but cars had never been the youngest Winchester's strength, being dragged to auto shops and scrap yards throughout his childhood had been like dragging Dean to the library. Stanford had been his, Sam had worked hard to get there and every bit of it was his own, he did what he loved, living in a cosy world of books, lectures, bars, 5000 word papers and hard work. It was something he was good at. But most of all it had been his own world with Jess and she had died only a few days ago and, oh God, Sam wasn't sure if it felt real yet.

"You okay, honey?" Mary's voice snapped Sam out him out of his thoughts and he nodded. She didn't look convinced but she didn't bother him any further. Sam took another look around, taking in the family photos, the wallpaper that he could probably draw out exactly if he wanted, and the carved initials at the bottom on the stairs. Mary had been furious that her boys had ruined the skirting board but she never replaced it. Sam knew this house so well but it wasn't home anymore, he'd found his own which he'd built with Jess, with their own hands. They ate microwave noodles at a cardboard box table when they'd first moved in, they had christened every room of the apartment (not that he'd tell anyone about that), Jess' Polaroid photos had covered the fridge and Sam's books were to be found on every surface possible with homemade books marks from Jess wedged in a dozen different places.

"You want something to eat?" Sam hadn't realised he'd zoned out again. It sounded like his mother had been asking a few times. He wandered into the kitchen, greeted by concerned looks from all family members so he forced a smile and a 'yes' so they'd stop. Mary looked pleased and started shuffling around the kitchen.

"What do you want?" she looked over her shoulder as Sam took a seat next to Dean and his dad at the table.

Sam shrugged, "I dunno, I'll have whatever."

"Tomato rice soup it is then," she beamed and turned away to get a pan. Sam wanted nothing more than to say _I'm not sick_ but he thought it was best not to say anything.

"Anything you want to do?" Dean asked, taking a six pack out of the fridge and setting it on the table. He took his seat again and took a drink of a beer. His father did the same, when Sam tried to follow suit he was rewarded with a slap on his good wrist.

"Hey!" he snapped his arm back.

"No alcohol," John said, "Doctor's orders."

Sam groaned, "At all? Well this is going to be fun."  
>Mary set the soup in front of Sam, and handed him a glass of orange juice. She also brought over a few sandwiches for everyone after such a long drive. Sam managed half of his food before his felt full; his appetite was barely existent anymore.<p>

"You eating that," Dean asked through a mouth full of food, gesturing to the untouch half of a beef sandwich.

"All yours," Sam slid the plate over and pushed out his chair, "I'm gonna head upstairs, see if I've got any old clothes up there."  
>He didn't wait for an answer and went upstairs. When he got to his old bedroom door he hesitated when he pushed it open, glancing back towards the kitchen. He shut the door deliberately and carefully sat down. He expertly avoided the creaky floor boards and pressed himself against the banister outside his room, trying to listen to his family downstairs. They were quiet a moment before they started talking, he strained to hear what they were saying.<p>

"….Sam…"

There it was. They were talking about him. He'd suspected as much and edged closer, crouching down a couple of steps before he could get a good distance to hear what they said without them knowing he was there.

"…but, John, he's barely eaten since the accident."

"I know, Mary, but give the kid a break. He's trying to process it all. Just don't smother him."

"But I have to do something, he's being so distant," there was the sound of clattering plates, Mary must be cleaning dished, "I'm just worried."

"We're all worried."

"Have you seen him?" The plates stopped clanging and there was a deep sigh, "He looks awful. I worry that if we don't do something soon that he'll get sick. And those pills… those pills have to go!"

"Mom," Dean throaty voice joined the conversation, "Of course he looks like crap, he was in a house fire, I mean, the kid's girlfriend _died_. Try not to worry; you know he can sense it like a freaking bloodhound, that's why he's being distant, he doesn't want to feel like a charity case_"

"But_"

"_But we can just call a doctor about the pills, it'll be fine, Mom, just give him time."

"You're right," Mary sounded defeated; "We just need to give him time. I just… this isn't healthy. What the doctor said about depression and all that other stuff…"

_Wait, no one told me about this. Why does no one tell me about this stuff?_

"…Sam might as well be on the cover of this pamphlet, he ticks all the boxes…"

_What pamphlet? Jesus, what else? Am I dying of a rare disease too?_

"Mom," Dean's back again, he sounds fed up, "If Sam says he's fine, he's fine. If he needed help he would say so."

Dean didn't sound convinced of his own words but their mother gave another defeated sigh.

"I guess you're right," her voice softened, "I worry about him. Both of you. He's my baby and I can't stand seeing him like this."

"I know," a chair scraped against the kitchen floor, Sam imagined his brother hugging their mother, "You're a mother, worrying is in the job description. Just don't baby him."

"Fine, I'll try but I can't make promises."

"Close enough," John was back in the conversation, "Mary, I worry about the boy, I do, but we need to give him some air. Just for a little while. We're here for him and he knows that."

Sam raised his eyebrows. _Wow, way to go Dad_. As much as he appreciated hearing sensitive words from his veteran father, he did not appreciate the 'Sam intervention minus Sam'. It felt like a betrayal to hear his family talk about this without him. Not that he wanted to talk… But how dare they talk about _depression _and _Jess _and whatever else behind his back? It was his business not theirs. He'd had enough and hopped to his feet as quietly as possible, tiptoeing back to his bedroom door down the hall. He turned the knob and pushed, pleased that in only let out a small creak as he stepped inside, shutting it quietly, he wanted nothing less than to draw attention to himself and have someone rush up to check on him.

His bedroom was exactly as he'd left it, although a little cleaner, it was fairly empty, showing all the signs being uninhibited. The only books on his shelves were ones he'd read as a kid; Harry Potter, the Hobbit, animal encyclopaedias. There was a soccer poster above his chest of drawers, which was decorated with his trophies from when he was on the soccer and swim team. He eyed them all, each miniature gold man caught mid-dive and covered in a layer of dust. He blew the dust, forgetting his still-recovering lungs, and coughed. He moved across the room, tearing down the soccer poster (he didn't want a sweaty, angry guy staring at him) and tossed it in the empty trash can.

He sat on the end of his bed and glared at the closet opposite. When he was little he used to sit in bed, staring at it, like he was now, terrified of the monster that waited behind the doors. Once he'd sworn to his family that he saw yellow eyes staring back at him through the crack, his dad told him to grow up, Dean had fed the fear, taking whatever sick pleasure older siblings did when the younger one was scared. He'd stopped when he was twelve and an eight-year-old Sam had come crying, diving under the covers and whimpering about the yellow-eyed man. Dean had even gone to check the closet for him, swinging the doors open to reveal a closet full of clothes and toys. His mother, however, had taken it quite seriously, she had questioned him about everything; _when did he come? What did he do? Could you smell rotten eggs? Does the lamp flicker when it happens?_

Sam had been confused. He was still confused by it now but he'd never asked her about it, she seemed genuinely concerned. She'd done as Dean had; took him to the closet and showed him it was empty, then she drew symbols on the inside corners of the doors, telling him it would protect him. Then she tucked him into bed and told him what she always did. _Angels are watching over you_.

He'd believed her and he prayed every night to the angels to watch over his family. He never had a nightmare about the man in the closet again. Sam shivered. He felt weird thinking about that after all these years, he hadn't given those yellow eyes a single thought since he was ten but for some reason, now, he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He got up and crept towards the closet, as though something would burst out and attack him at any moment. He wrapped his fingers around the handles and pulled the doors open to reveal, well, nothing but a couple of boxes full of old junk. What had he expected to find? He leaned in the doorway and traced his fingers over the symbols his mother had drawn. She had told him it was their little secret and he hadn't questioned that, he liked having secrets to keep. But now Sam was older and he squinted at the symbol. He could swear he recognised it, it looked like something he'd seen when he read a book about mythology or something. He pulled out of the doorway and shuffled through his desk drawers, finding the sketch pad and coloured pencil set he'd been looking for.

Sam used to like art, he even won a competition at school once for a drawing he did of his brother fixing the Impala. They were supposed to draw something they were thankful for (It was a thanksgiving competition after all) and Sam was thankful for Dean. He could have sworn his brother had shed a tear when he saw it.

Sam hurried back to the closet and sketched out the symbol, he would look it up later. Something about the symbol, the closet and the childhood nightmares really bothered him all of a sudden. It reminded him of Jess, of what happened to her and what he saw. He definitely saw it.

He sat back down on the bed and turned the page in his sketch book. He put a pencil to the paper and began to draw. He felt rusty but after a few light strokes of his pencil he knew what he was drawing and smiled, pressing more detail into the sketch. The image of Jess flowed from the graphite; she was lying down, looking up at him with her ringlets splayed out around her head like a halo. He stared at the image a while before reaching for the colours, he blushed her cheeks and put light into her hair and after a while she was lying in a pool of soft colours. She looked serene.

Then Sam reached for a deep red colour and sketching over it, he didn't draw his eyes away from the paper yet he barely noticed switching pencils, taking oranges, yellows and black. When he was done he dropped his pencil, almost shocked at what he had done. Jess was engulfed in flames now, her skin was blackening, her eyes were hollowed out as she burned, and red had been messily scrawled over her abdomen, like he had attacked the paper with his pencil. Sam stared at the page for a moment and seeing the image frightened him. He had barely taken notice in doing it, it was so natural because that was the image he had of Jess, that horrific scene was seared into his brain.

Sam could hear the bounding footsteps of his brother coming up the stairs and he hastily snapped the sketchbook shut, shoving it under his pillow and whipping round just as his older brother came through the door.

"Woah," Dean stopped in his tracks and stared at Sam.

"What?"

"You look whiter than that albino kid that went to our high school, remember him?"

Dean had a mean smile on his face.

"Yeah," Sam hissed, "I remember him being a nice guy, you don't need to be such a jerk."

Dean's face actually looked a little guilty, "Yeah, I guess we could've been nicer to the kid. I'm just saying you look like you've seen a ghost. Crap! I mean… you know…"

Sam watched Dean stutter before he settled for, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam lied, "What do you want?"

"Oh yeah, Mom wants you to come down for dinner, she made chicken salad because she knows you like that crappy chick food."

"Dinner?" Sam shot a glance out the window, it was getting dark, "What time it is?"

"Er…" Dean checked his watch and held it out to Sam, "It's about seven."

Sam tried not to look so shocked, and therefore worrying, as he realised he'd been in his room for three hours. But his brother didn't seem to notice.

Dean scanned the room, taking in the open closet and the pencils strewn across the floor. "You been drawing?" he asked, "Hey remember that awesome one you drew of me? You still got it?"

"I dunno, I could look later if you want, but right now let's get out of my room."

Dean threw his hands in the air as Sam shoved him out the room, "Alright, alright. You always were weirdly private. You got something to hide, Sammy?"

"No," Sam sounded snappier than he meant to as he shut his bedroom door behind them and they made their way to the kitchen. They sat in their usual places at the table, Sam got a soft clap on his shoulder from his dad and a smile from his mother as she dished out the salad. Dean stared glumly at lettuce leaf on his fork.

"It won't bite you, y'know," Sam teased. Dean dropped his fork on the plate with a moan.

"Good thing we've got French fries," Mary set a plate of fries in the centre of the table and Dean's eyes practically lit up, no doubt looking forward to having to eat a meal of green stuff, and he piled a mountain of fries on top of the salad.

"How often do I tell you I love you, Mom?" Dean grinned at her and she laughed.

"Not often enough," She answered.

Sam made do without fries and took a bite out of his food. It was nice; he'd missed his mother's cooking even if it was something as simple as salad. He suddenly remembered his pills and glanced at his family, they were talking about how things were at dad's auto shop when Sam spoke up, deciding to test the waters.

"Hey, Mom?" She looked up at him, in fact, everyone did, "Aren't I supposed to take my meds before dinner?"

She sighed dropping her fork. _Here it comes_.

"Sam, I'm not sure about it, maybe we should skip them tonight and go see a doctor tomorrow?"

Sam dropped his fork too, letting it clang against his plate, "Mom. How about no?"

"_Sam_," his father's voice filled with warning

He turned to John, "Seriously?"

He glanced at all of them, Dean dropped his head to his hand, looking at Sam with a sorry look on his face.

"You realise I'm 22, right? I'm pretty sure that makes me an adult…" his voice dripped with sarcasm and he tapped a finger to his temple, "Oh yeah, I think it does."

"Sam," Mary sighed again, "Please don't argue about this, you're not helping_"

Sam almost laughed, "I'm not helping? Helping what?"

He dropped his shoulders, "Look I just want the pills which _my _doctor prescribed to _me_ so I'm pretty sure that makes them mine. And I only want them so they can do their job which is to kill the freaking pain in my arm which feels like it's on fire. Remember that? The fire that killed my girlfriend?"

There was a deadly silence and Sam didn't even feel bad to see his mother holding back from crying. Sam felt something warm fall down his cheek and he quickly wiped away the tear.

"Why are you scared of me taking them?"

There wasn't an answer, Dean looked like he was going to say something but he never did.

"Is it the side effects? Because I'm pretty sure it's normal, I mean it's written on the freaking bottle."

"Sammy_" Dean had found the courage to speak up but he was cut off when Sam realised something.

"Wait a second…" he muttered disbelief, "You don't think… you don't think I'll try to…"

He couldn't finish that sentence so he took another route, "You think I'm depressed?"

"Sammy," His mother had wiped her tears, "We never said that."

"Yeah you did," his voice was cold, "I should be on the front cover of the pamphlet, right? Maybe you should find a better meeting place for your Sam-meetings."

He pushed himself out of his chair, wincing in pain when he hit his burned arm off the table.

"You okay, son?" John looked ready to jump to the rescue but Sam shot him an angry look.

"I'm fine. My arm is just killing me and you won't let me have pain killers and none of you trust me."

"'Course we trust you, Sam," Dean stood up, still not matching the three inches his little brother had on him, "The pills just seem to make you moody and sick and surely you can see that? Listen to yourself right now."

Maybe Sam was moodier because of the pills, he didn't really care. It wasn't about his meds, not really, it was the fact that his family talked about him behind his back and confiscated his stuff and treated him like a mental-case. But Sam was tired, he was always tired and he didn't want to argue anymore. He wanted to take his meds so he didn't hurt anymore and then he wanted to go to bed and sleep. When he thought about he wasn't sure if he wanted to wake up.

_Oh God. I don't want to die. Not really. Do I? Damnit, Sam, you're fine… no you're not_.

Sam swallowed, "I'm sorry," his voice cracked, "I'm just in pain and…"he rubbed a hand over his face, "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I just can't do this," he gestured to the table, "I can't play happy families because I just can't… I can't."

He sobbed. _Stop it, Sam, stop crying_. But tears were already falling.

"I just miss her so much and," choked a bit, _this is getting embarrassing, stop it_, "I don't know what to do, I don't feel anything but I feel everything at the same time."

He was babbling and he knew it but he couldn't stop himself, words were falling out his mouth in sobs and croaks. He felt his mother's soft hands cup his cheeks and wipe fruitlessly at his tears. He hitched a breath and started hyperventilating.

_STOP IT!_

"Oh God!" he gasped, staring at his mother, "She's really gone. I lost her. She's gone, isn't she?"

Those words seemed to tumble out over and over between sharp breaths and it kept going until he couldn't breathe. His father was rubbing his back, telling him to calm down, his mother was stroking his hair and Dean stood trying to do something but coming up with nothing. Sam finally managed to get his breathing back to normal and noticed he was sitting on the couch, leaning into his mother as she held him close. His dad sat on the other side, a hand still on his back. Dean stood in the doorway, shock etched onto his face.

"I want go to bed," Sam finally managed to say, he sat up rubbing his face.

"Sure, honey," his mom pushed a hair behind his ear, she got up to help him to his feet but Dean stepped forward.

"I'll take him," he gently pulled Sam to his feet and guided him up the stairs, gripping his shoulders as if to stop the shaking, he steered his little brother into his room and let go to pull back the sheets as Sam changed into pyjamas before he helped him into bed.

"That was embarrassing," Sam said, laughing shakily.

"Nah, you're okay," Dean pulled the covers over Sam.

"I'm not a kid," he grumbled.

"I know, never said you were."

The door creaked open and Mary crept in with a tray, she set it on Sam's lap and perched on the edge of his bed.

"I brought the medication," she pointed to the orange bottle on the tray, "I'm sorry, Sam, I was wrong to say that. But I called the doctor, the one we were referred to, and we have an appointment tomorrow, you up for that?"

Sam definitely wasn't but he nodded anyway. Mary smiled.

"You need to eat something with it so I made your favourite; peanut butter and banana sandwich."

Dean made a noise, "Don't encourage him, Mom."

Sam almost laughed, "I swear by this sandwich, Dean."

They both stayed with him while he ate and took his pill, talking about anything that might make him smile and they nearly succeeded a couple of times but Sam told them he was tired, and he was, not because of his medication but because his energy had been drained by the whole panic-attack-thing. They left, Dean patted his shoulder and his mom kissed his forehead and whispered in his ear.

"_Angels are watching over you_."

Then they were gone, after closing the curtains and turning out the light and Sam was left alone in the dark. For some reason he glanced at the closet before sinking back into his pillow, relieved not to see yellow eyes staring back. He curled onto his side and pressed his head into the pillow, clutching it. He felt the sketchbook underneath so he cast it onto the floor and buried himself in sheets and cushions and let tears fall silently because he simply didn't have the energy to cry, he fell asleep with salt-stained cheeks.

**Okay, so that was pretty angsty. What the heck am I doing to Sam?! **

**Anyway sorry for the super late update, I think this was a longer chapter so I hope that makes up for it. Also, I said that the action's coming and I wasn't lying, brace yourselves guys.**

**But I want to be realistic with Sam's grief because he doesn't have hunting to take it all out on, so I'm taking time with that. **

**Despite being brought up in an 'apple pie life' I still want them to be as close to canon Winchesters as possible so I hope it worked.**

**I think I replied to all reviews.**

**To the guest lynnwinchester: thanks for reading and I'm already on it.**

**Thanks guys! Reviews fuel me!**


	4. Chapter 4

Sam woke up to his brother nudging the door open; his arms were busy with a breakfast tray. Rolling over under the sheets, Sam squinted at Dean, who shot him a grin and the younger brother sat up and rubbed the grit from his eyes.

"Wow breakfast in bed," Sam stifled a yawn, "Am I special or something?"

"Or something, Nerd," Dean teased and he set the tray on Sam's lap, perching himself on the edge of the bed. Sam gazed down at his breakfast and took in the warm smell of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup. There was also a small bowl of freshly chopped fruit and a glass of icy orange juice. Sam smiled and dug in, shoveling syrup-soaked pancakes into his mouth.

"Y'know I would've come down for breakfast," Sam said as he took another bite.

"Breakfast was four hours ago, Sammy, it's 1pm."

Sam stopped mid-chew and stared wide-eyed at his brother. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"I tried but you seemed to insist on sleeping, mumbled something about 'go away' and 'ass hat'."

"I don't remember that, sounds like me though."

"Yeah, well, you needed your beauty sleep," Dean eyed his brother as he wolfed down his breakfast, "Seems like you got your appetite back though."

Sam shrugged as he gulped down some juice, "Guess so. I'm starving actually."

"Good, you need to get some meat back on that skinny ass," he waited for Sam to finish eating before he took the tray, turning around in the doorway, "Almost forgot, Mom says she's taking you to a doctor a 3.30 so you need to be showered and dressed for about 3pm."

The Dean disappeared into the hallway. Sam listened to his brother's heavy tread as he descended the stairs before he threw back his bed sheet and touched his bare toes to the floor. Looking down he noticed the sketch pad lying on the floor. He picked it up hesitantly as if it would bite him and held it limply in his hands. He stared at it; he could almost see the drawing of Jess behind the black cover. With a sigh, he turned the page and was greeted with his girlfriend's terror-filled face.

He got up and moved to his desk, sitting down; he placed the sketch book in front of himself and turned to the next page. It was blank and he smoothed it down as he pulled his pencils from the drawer. He took a simple graphite pencil and began to draw, just like last time he didn't give much thought to what he was creating; he just let his hand do the work, his mind catching up later.

Soon the shape of an eye, his eye, became obvious. He kept drawing, moving on to colour it and it had been over half an hour by the time he'd finished. He sat back and stared into his own eye, it was wide and fearful-looking, and his iris was filled with the reflection of Jessica's death. Underneath, written with a heavy had, were the words _I saw what I saw_.

"Hey, Sam?" He shot round to find him mother peering round his door, "we've gotta go in an hour and half."

"Oh, yeah," Sam stuttered, trying to block the sketch book with his body, "I'll get in the shower now."

"Okay," Mary said hesitantly, trying to glimpse over Sam's shoulder but she seemed to give up and headed downstairs.

Sam hurriedly shoved the book and pencils back into his drawer and shot off for the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. He stripped down and hopped into the shower. As he rubbed the shampoo suds from his hair he thought about Jess and about everything he'd seen. She had been pinned to the ceiling, she definitely had, and he'd seen it. Then she had burst into flames, right before Sam's eyes. There had been no electrical fire, he was certain of that much. Jess had been murdered. Something had killed her, something unnatural.

No one would believe him, he knew that, they'd tell him he was grieving and he just wanted something to blame. Sam didn't question it, he knew what he saw and he knew what he had dreamed about for almost a week before Jess died. He shut off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist before heading back to his room. Once he was dressed in a plaid shirt from Dean's room and an old pair of jeans he sat at his desk and flipped through a dictionary, eyeing the clock every so often. He still had while before they left and Sam could stop his mind from wandering back to Jess.

"She was murdered," he whispered to himself, trying to understand the words. But what killed her? It definitely wasn't anything natural. And why kill her? Jess had been the sweetest person he knew, what had she done to deserve that?

Sam found himself pulling out the sketchbook and he turned to another clear page. This time he pulled out a pen and started at the top left-hand corner, he wrote _I saw what I saw_.

He stared at the small sentence for a moment and repeated it; he went over and over until the whole page was covered in it. Each time he wrote it down he felt like he was searing it into his brain, convincing himself, assuring himself that he was right. He brushed his hand over the page, feeling the dents of his handwriting on the paper. When he glanced at the clock he noticed it was five minutes to three and he slammed the book closed and hid it at the bottom of his desk drawer. He practically hurled himself down the stairs and almost crashed into Dean in the hallway, he managed to skid out the way and steady himself on the wall.

"Woah," Dean was shrugging his leather jacket on with raised eye brows, "You trying to knock me over?"

"Sorry," Sam apologised breathlessly, "Didn't realise what time it was."

"Clearly," Dean rolled his eyes. Mary appeared in the hallway, glancing at her two boys. She looked like she was about to say something but shook her head and turned to Sam.

"Grab your coat," she took her keys from the bowl by the door as Sam pulled on his hoody, "I'm giving Dean a lift to the garage on the way because your father has the Impala."

They headed out into the midday autumn sun and climbed into the family vehicle, Sam, being the youngest, headed straight for the back seat out of habit while Dean rode shotgun. Mary stopped outside John's garage and Dean hurried off to meet his father who was bent over the engine of a battered up car. He pulled himself out and waved to Mary and Sam before she pulled away and headed for the hospital.

Soon they were sitting side-by-side in the doctor's office. There were framed certificates decorating the walls and a window sill lined with plant pots. Sam bounced his leg nervously and his mother laid a hand on his knee soothingly just when a middle aged man opened the door and made his way to the desk.

"Sorry for the delay," he said as he sat down and pulled on his glasses, "Another patient took longer than I thought it would."

"Not a problem," Mary smiled and removed her hand from Sam's knee.

"I'm doctor Hayes," he leaned over and shook both their hands before opening up a file which sat on the desk, "I've been in contact with doctor Martin from Stanford hospital and she has faxed me all of your records. I know your situation, Mr. Winchester, and I'd like you to know how sorry I am for your loss."

Sam nodded, finding himself stare at his shoes he muttered, "Thank you."

Mary put her hand on his shoulder, "I brought him in today because of the painkillers he was prescribed, they seem to have bad effect on him."

Doctor Hayes nodded thoughtfully, glancing at the medical chart, "Says here you were prescribed an opiate for the pain and you've been taking them since November 3rd, what kind of side effects have you been experiencing?"

"He gets very tired; he's asleep very quickly after he takes them," Mary jumped into action, counting Sam's symptoms off her fingers. Sam kept staring at the floor as she went on, "When he's taken them he seems a bit out of it. He doesn't seem to have much appetite either, and he feels nauseous and his mood gets very low, but he says it takes the pain away."

"Sam?" the doctor finally spoke and the young man lifted his head to meet Doctor Hayes' eyes.

"Yeah?"

The doctor chuckled slightly, "This is an appointment for you," he reminded Sam kindly, "Now I'd like you to know that these are common side effects for this type of medication, the nausea tends to go away, when was the last time you felt nauseous or were sick?"

"Two days ago, we were driving back from Stanford."

"Well the car combined with the medication was likely to result in nausea. I'd guess the nausea took away your appetite somewhat. As for these moods, how do you feel?"

"Uh…" Sam blinked, how was he supposed to answer that?

The Doctor just nodded and sat straighter in his chair, "It's normal to receive side effects to medications like this, however I think it's possible that these are symptoms of grief which have been enhanced by the side effects of the medication. Sam, you have been through a terrible ordeal and it's understandable if you don't feel hungry or energetic or happy right now but times a great healer. I would like to prescribe you a simpler medication which won't be so strong, however, I am interested in what you mentioned about sleep. You said he's asleep very quickly after he takes it?"

"Yes," Mary confirmed, "He's out barely fifteen minutes after he takes it."

"I see…," he jotted something down on the file, and then looked up to Sam, "It's unusual for this type of medication to have such an effect, they tend to make you more tired but not in this way. Sam, how have you been sleeping lately?"

"Uh…" Sam scratched his head and glanced at his mother, deciding to come clean, "Not well. I didn't get more than six hours for almost three weeks before the, ah, the accident. At first I would just wake up throughout the night then eventually I couldn't sleep no matter how tired I was."

"What? Sammy, you never mentioned any of this to me."

Sam sighed, "Well I wasn't exactly going to call my mom to tell her I wasn't sleeping well."

"Do you know why you woke up through the night?" The doctor interrupted, "Was something waking you up?"

"Yeah, nightmares," Sam admitted.

"And then you prevented yourself from sleeping for fear of these nightmares?" doctor Hayes guessed. Sam nodded.

"Have you had any more since the accident?"

"No, I haven't really had any dreams; I think the meds just knock me out."

"I'm guessing the side effects of tiredness were enhanced due to your lack of sleep. If you want I can prescribe you something to help you sleep. I would advise you to wait until you've changed pain medications to see how your sleep changes."

Sam just nodded again, Jess had tried to get him to go to the doctors after he went a whole night without sleep but Sam didn't want to, he already felt like a freak as it was.

"Is there anything else you want to ask me?"

"No, that's it," Sam muttered.

"I want to see you every week to check how your doing," Hayes told them as he scribbled down a prescription, "I'll send you through to a nurse now to check on your burn and change the bandages then you'll be free to go."

He handed over the paper and stood to shake their hands, "I put my personal number on there if you need anything and I'll get in touch about an appointment next week."

They left the hospital, Sam's arm was bandaged in fresh gauze and he had a back of over-the-counter pain meds. He knew it was going to hurt more now, which sucked, but maybe he wouldn't worry his mom so much. She smiled at him as he climbed into the passenger seat.

"What do you think about something to eat?" she asked as they pulled out of the parking lot, "You missed lunch."

"Sounds good," Sam smiled back, actually feeling hungry, "I could eat pasta."

"Pasta it is, there's a nice Italian place that opened while you were at college."

Bella Cecilia was a nice place, old wine bottled held dripping candles in the centre of the tables and Italian was shouted across the busy kitchen. They took a seat by the window and ordered their drinks, no alcohol for Sam because he was supposed to be weaning off the old medication, so they both got Cokes. Sam ended up finishing his pasta in about ten minutes and had half of the bread from the basket before moving onto tiramisu.

"You'd think you'd never eaten," Mary laughed, she had just started her dessert and Sam's was already gone.

"Well, I haven't really had much recently… hey mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I'm sorry about last night, I snapped at you."

Mary frowned, "You have nothing to be sorry for, don't worry."

When they were done they headed home. The house was empty because John and Dean were still at work so Mary decided to tend to her flower beds, Sam sat on the door step watching when the phone rang.

"I'll get it," he jumped to his feet and headed inside, taking the phone off the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Sam?"

"Yes?"

"Hello Sam, it's Karen."

Sam paled. He should have recognised her, he'd met Karen plenty times but it was hard to recognise the grief-stricken voice.

"Hi," he finally managed to say.

"I thought you might be back home, it's lucky Jess wrote your number in the phone book last time she was here."

"Oh god, Karen, I'm so sorry."

"I know," there was a sob on the other end, "I am too. She was my daughter and I lost her."

A tear slipped down Sam's cheek, "I wish I could have saved her, I tried," he whispered, holding back his tears.

"There's nothing you could have done," Karen's voice seemed calmer, "Are you okay? Were you hurt? I never heard anything from you after the accident."

"I'm sorry, I should have called you but I haven't been… you know. I'm fine."

"I'm glad. Sam, I called to tell you that the funeral is in a couple days in our home town and I know she'd want you there. I want you there."

"I'll be there," Sam promised, more tears leaking down his face.

"Good," Karen's voice was soft and shaky, "I want to see that you're okay."

"Thank you."

"I'll see you soon then. I'd better go; I have some calls to make."

They said their goodbyes and Sam hung up, turning to find his mother who pulled him into a hug.

"Was that Karen?" she asked, "How is she?"

"As good as she can be," Sam shrugged and wiped a tear from his face as Mary pulled back, "The funeral is on the 10th."

Mary stroked his cheek, "You want to go?"

He nodded, "I have to say goodbye."

"We'll book a flight, I'll come with you."

"Thanks. I'm gonna go upstairs for a bit, okay?"

"Okay," Mary kissed him on the cheek and stared worriedly at his retreating back as he made his way upstairs. Sam shut the door behind himself and fell into his bed, feeling quite exhausted. He pulled the covers over his body and settled into as comfortable a position as he could. He lay deep in thought for a long time, thinking about Jess, the imaged of her death replayed in his mind over and over until he couldn't stay awake anymore. Soon his sleep became restless.

_Three teenaged boys relaxed in their tent, playing video games and chatting away. One of them pulled out a cell phone and started to record himself, all of them unaware of the growl that rumbled outside._

"_Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge."_

_Something dark flashed past the tent._

"_We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay?" he smiled, "Talk to you tomorrow."_

_He stopped recording and sent the message as one of the other boys tossed his video game to the side._

"_Hey! Where you going? My moment of victory," the third boy whined._

"_Nature calls," the second replied, he got up and left the tent, zipping it up behind him. As he stood against the tree something snapped and he looked towards the sound to find nothing but rustling trees. He shook his head, looking down before suddenly shooting his head upwards._

_Back in the tent the two other boys hear a scream._

"_Brad?" one of them called out. The other set his book down and sat up._

"_What's going on?" he asked as his friend stuck his head out the tent before looking up. He screamed as he was ripped from the tent._

_The last boy began to panic and turned off the lantern. A shadow flashed around the tent, the boy followed the sound of growls, shivering with fear._

_It was quiet._

_Then the tent slashed open and the final boy screamed._

Sam's eyes flashed between the torn tent to his dimmed bedroom, his vision jolting before it cleared. He looked up to find Dean leaning over him with a worried look on his face.

"You okay?"

Sam sat up, untwisting himself from the blanket, "I… er… what?"

"Dude, you were having a nightmare, I was headed for the bathroom when I heard you, was it… you know?"

"What?" Sam frowned at Dean, still trying to get his bearings, "Oh, yeah, I dreamed about Jess."

"You wanna… talk about it?"

"Nope."

Dean looked hesitant, "You sure you're fine?"

"Yeah, I'm good. It was just a dream. Can you go? I'll be down in a minute."

Dean reluctantly nodded and left, shutting the door. Sam sat up and rubbed his aching temples. That dream had been vivid, just like the ones he had of Jess, he could practically smell the coppery tang of blood. He could still hear those boys' screams. Those boys were real people and they were going to die.

Sam got up and opened his desk drawer, pulling out the book. He opened a new page and drew out the entire dream, like one of the comic books Dean used to read. He put as much detail as he could and made sure to highlight the words _Blackwater Ridge_. Sam knew what he was going to do. He was going to research it, find where those boys were and go to tell them to leave whatever forest they were camping in before they died. He wouldn't let anyone else die because of him, if he knew what would happen then he could save them. He would save them.

* * *

><p><strong>So sorry for such a late update but I've had some computer troubles. I hope you guys haven't give up on this fic. I'll update when I can.<strong>

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed/followed/favourited.**

**I hope you enjoyed and I would happily take any reviews off your hands :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Sam stared at the computer screen in disbelief. He was in the local library and it had been one day since he'd returned home after Jess's funeral. He had watched them bury her, trying to picture her lying peacefully inside but all he could see was her burned body, how she was when he last saw her.

He had dreamed about those three boys every night, it was identical every time, equally vivid and painful. He'd tried to find them before Jess' funeral with no luck. He was good with computers, he even had a phase of illegally hacking into his high school's system, not that anyone needed to find out about that. But Sam had spent all his time around the funeral trying to find those boys. It turned out there were a lot of Blackwater Ridges in America, however, he finally managed to find the right place. The article in front of him read: Local teens are missing as police investigate gruesome scene.

There was a picture of the three missing boys; it was strange seeing happy school pictures, he was used to seeing their faces set in fear. Sam knew they weren't missing. They were all dead and what killed them definitely wasn't a bear. Hed begun researching animal attacks in the same area, turned out a few hikers had gone missing in the same forest. It seemed like whatever it was was old, strong and dangerous.

Sam stayed in the library until closing time, having picked up a few books on the occult and the supernatural, which he stuffed into the bottom of his backpack. He collected his things and stepped into the night, sending Dean a text that he was on his way home. He'd managed to convince his mom he could get to the library on his own and she'd reluctantly agreed to let him get the bus into town. As much as he appreciated his family's concern, he was getting tired of the smothering.

He hopped on the bus and took a seat, his mind still focused on the three teenagers. They were all dead, they'd been torn to shreds because Sam didn't warn them, he should have worked harder to find them. Maybe if he'd done that then they'd be alive, their parents would still have their sons.

The bus halted, Sam glanced out the window to find they'd stopped at the main strip for bars and clubs and Sam thought about how good a drink sounded right now. It was getting late and the sun was setting as he found himself on the sidewalk as the bus pulled away, he headed into a bar filled with students. The low rumble of social chatting and drinking drowned out the sounds of the screaming teenagers and Sam took a seat at the bar, dropping his bag by his feet.

A girl about Sam's age with short black hair worked behind the bar and she smiled when she came over to him, "Can I get you anything?"

"Something strong," Sam said, the guilt beginning to tear at him.

She laughed, "I can do that, bad day?"

"You have no idea," he muttered as she set a glass in front of him. He downed it.

"Leave the bottle," he didn't look up as dropped a handful of notes next to his empty glass.

The bartender raised an eyebrow but shrugged, setting the bottle of whiskey in front of him. Sam poured another drink and swallowed it quickly, ignoring the burn it left in his throat and the bad taste it left in his mouth.

A few hours later Sam had rejected countless phone calls from his family and had almost finished the entire bottle. He swayed on his chair as the bar got quieter, most people having left for clubs.

"You okay over there?" the bartender came over as she wiped down the bar surface, collecting empty glasses and bottles as she did.

"I'm super," Sam grinned drunkenly and reached for the bottle. She snatched it away.

"Hey!" Sam whined.

"I think you've had enough."

"I think…" Sam trailed off, becoming very interested in his cell phone, "Technology is really great, isn't it? I mean I can talk to someone in this little box and someone talks back," he pressed his turned-off phone to his ear, "Hello?"

The bartender took it out of his hand and set it down on the bar, "You know that's switched off?"

"Oh," Sam laughed. The bartender furrowed her brow.

"You okay? Because there's usually only one reason someone drinks as much as you have on their own."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. What happened? Bad breakup?"

"No… I dreamed about these kids, right?"

She leaned forward, suddenly more interested. She rather enjoyed hearing the drunk stories that frequented the place.

"I dreamed about it for days so I looked up where they were. Black-something… Blackwater bay? Is that out of a movie?"

"I dunno," the bartender shrugged, "So these dreams?"

"Oh yeah," Sam huffed a laugh, "So I watch these kids die every night, super vivid like I'm there, and I try to find out where they are and I research for days and found nothing."

"Okay…" she frowned with concern, not seeing where this story was going.

"Then today I find them… and I'm too late. The kids' faces are all over local news. Missing. I know they're dead though, I've seen it a hundred times."

Sam tried to rest his head on his hand but missed sloppily and jerked back in confusion. The bartender put a hand on his shoulder, tugging him so he looked at her with bleary eyes.

"I think you should head home, maybe I should call someone for you?" she reached for his phone but Sam jerked it back.

"No!" he pleaded, sounding like a teenager past curfew, "My dad will be pissed."

"I don't have to call your dad, what about a roommate?"

"Don't have one anymore, live with my parents now."

"Why?"

"She died. She was my girlfriend. Burned to death right in front of me," he held up his bandaged arm, "I dreamed about her dying too."

"I'm so sorry," she gasped.

"I could've saved her," he stared off, his eyes watering, "I knew it was going to happen and I didn't do anything."

"It's not your fault. You didn't know, your heads just confusing things because of how much you drank."

"No," Sam protested, "I'm not making it up. I saw the future. I'm like and x-man or something but a really crappy one."

"Right," the bartender decided that arguing would be pointless and she glanced at the clock, "I get off in ten minutes, I'll give you a ride home. Think you can behave yourself until then?"

Sam nodded, even though he didn't look like he was paying much attention as he squinted at the coasters on the bar.

"Okay," she sighed and finished cleaning up. When she came back Sam was still where she'd left him, leaning on the bar with his head in his arms, she helped him off the stool and he nearly fell over before she grabbed him. She was surprised by how tall he was and tried her best to steady him as they exited the bar, despite her efforts Sam managed to walk into the door.

"Huh?" Sam glared at the door in confusion.

"Yeah, you have to wait for me to open it." Sam laughed stupidly.

She pulled him out into the street, stumbling along with him as she tried to keep him steady.

"I'm Sal by the way, short for Sally."

"I'm Sam. Or Sammy. Or Samuel. I don't really know."

"Okay… Sam it is."

She managed to get him to the parking lot where she'd parked her car, it was small and she wondered how he'd fit in the passenger seat.

She leaned him against the back door as she unlocked the car, he almost slumped over before she caught him and eased him into the passenger seat. She buckled him in after he displayed a drunken inability to do so and hopped behind the wheel.

"So where we headed?"

Sam perked up, "Hey! We should go dancing!"

"I don't think so," Sal giggled, "C'mon, we're taking you home, remember?"

"Nah, don't wanna," he huffed.

"Well tough, I'm the driver so I decide where we go."

"You're bossy," Sam muttered, "Like Dean."

"Dean? Oh, never mind. Where do you live."

It took a couple of minutes before Sam finally remembered where he lived and Sal pulled out of the car park and headed for Sam's house.

"So your girlfriend died in a fire?" She'd been curious all night but she'd been hesitant to ask.

"Apparently," Sam's laughed childishly, "They said it was and electrical fire but I saw it. I know what I saw."

Sal's curiosity peaked and she quickly glanced at Sam when his laughter cut off. He was slumped in the passenger seat, his face etched with grief and his eyes were glassy.

"What did you see?" she asked hesitantly, the guy had already come up with some depressingly wild stories already.

"Came home to find Jess stuck to the ceiling, her stomach slashed then she set on fire."

Sal let go of the breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.

"Do you mean that or is that drunk-brain talking?"

"I mean it. I saw what I saw." Sam muttered that last sentence over to himself a few times. Sal stepped on the gas, wondering if the guy was seriously ill. Maybe he wasn't supposed to drink and, oh no, she'd given him a whole bottle. She realised that this was more than just drunk guy who needed to get home in one piece; this guy was really messed up. She felt bad for him. Either that or he was a really scary drunk.

"I just want to stop seeing it," Sam whispered brokenly, "I don't want to see people die anymore, I can't even save them."

Sal didn't know what to say, she opened her mouth a few times but nothing came out. She was relieved when she saw the street sign.

"This the right street?" She asked as she turned onto a suburban road lined with trees.

Sam looked around lazily, "Um… maybe?"

"Alright then… I think this is it. You better have been truthful," she pulled up outside a house; the lights on the bottom floor were still on.

* * *

><p>Dean was pacing in the living room, cell phone in hand as Mary sat on the couch.<p>

"Anything?" she asked, eyes filled with worry.

"He's not answering, I think he shut his phone off hours ago," he sighed, "Dad said he'd ring if he found him."

"Maybe we should call the police?" Mary suggested for the seventh time, "Dean, he could be seriously hurt."

Dean seemed to give in and began to dial 911 when the door bell rang. He dropped his cell and ran to the door, swinging it wide to find a petite woman with a dark pixie cut and black clothes staring back. She had on hand reached up to Sam's back as he leaned against the door, his forehead pressed to the frame with his eyes closed.

"Are you Sam's family?" she asked shyly, she smiled nervously when Mary came to the door.

"Sam!" Mary gasped with relief.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean demanded.

Sam shrugged and muttered, "Library."

"Sam, the Library closed hours ago."

Sam lifted his head off the doorframe and blinked at Dean, "It did?"

Dean's eyes widened, "Wait, are you drunk?"

"No."

"He's absolutely hammered," the girl cut in, "I work at a student bar in town, he had a lot to drink but I thought I should bring home because he didn't seem… okay."

"What do you mean? Wait, come in first," Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder and hauled him into the living room, gesturing for the girl to follow. She did and shut the door behind her. Dean pushed Sam into the sofa, crossing his arms as Sam giggled, his head lolling back against the couch.

"I'm so drunk," he laughed. Mary sighed and handed Sam a glass of water. Sam just stared at it, his mother sighed, pressed his fingers around it and said, "drink it, honey."

Dean huffed in annoyance as he watched his brother, realising that Sam had reached a whole new level of intoxicated. He averted his gaze and looked at the girl apologetically.

"One of you is gonna to explain to me what happened, how does a trip to the library turn into this… oh Jesus."

Dean growled as he took the empty glass of water from Sam, his brother having spilled it all over the rug as he flopped onto his side, closing his eyes.

"M'just gunna sleep, kay? I'll finish n'morning."

"Yeah, Sammy, we're not done with you yet."

Dean raked a hand over his face and looked at the girl who shifted awkwardly, a concerned stare aimed at Sam.

"Sorry I didn't get your name, I'm Dean, Sam's brother. And this is our mom, Mary."

The girl nodded, "I'm Sal."

"Well, Sal, I think you're going to have to take this one for the team, what the hell happened?"

Sal bit her lip, "He came in around eight, looking pretty glum, and sat at the bar by himself. He asked for something strong so I gave him whiskey, he downed it then asked for the whole bottle."

"Sam? Sam's not a whiskey sort of guy."

"Well… I got back to work and came back to find him still there, absolutely smashed, nearly all the bottle empty so I took it off him. I thought maybe he'd had a bad breakup so I asked him about it and, well, I don't know if he was just really out of it or if… he doesn't have any mental health problems, does he?"

"What? No!" Dean snapped.

"What gives you that impression," Mary cut across, suddenly calm. The girl sighed.

"Well he went on and on about having dreams that these teenagers died and then he said he'd looked it up today and that, apparently, they were dead. The same kids from his dreams. He's totally convinced he can see the future. I don't know if he's really drunk or if he actually thinks that."

Dean glanced at Sam who was now covered in a blanket on the couch, fast asleep. Then he looked at his mother who was frowning, as if deep in thought.

"He told me about his girlfriend too, he did have a girlfriend?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, she died over a week ago; there was a fire in their apartment."

"Well he said he saw her pinned to the ceiling, bleeding, then she burst into flames," She raised her hands defensively to the look on Dean's face, "It's what he said. I mean I know he's drunk but those are really grim things to think even when you're hammered. I was worried he was ill so I hurried to get him home before he hurt himself."

"Sam's not ill."

"He's had a tough time recently, as you can imagine," Mary added.

"I was just worried. I should probably go home now, I'm glad he's okay."

"Thanks for getting him here," Dean dropped his shoulders and he showed her to the door, "Really, we appreciate it."

Sal smiled, "Not a problem, anytime. I'll see you around."

She waved goodbye and headed for her car. Dean shut the door and headed back to the living room as his mom put the phone down on the coffee table.

"Your dad's on his way home," she informed him, "He's not happy."

"Neither am I," Dean raked his fingers through his spiky hair, "We've got a lot to talk about tomorrow, Sammy."

* * *

><p>Th<strong>anks for reading. Reviews are love!<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello guys! I hope you had a merry Christmas :) I just wanted you to know that I will be trying to update more frequently from now on and I also have a lot of supernatural fic ideas which I will be writing. I think short fics and one-shots might be posted alongside this one but any long fan fics will wait until this one is done, including 'Lucifer Falling' so I apologise if you follow that one. But if you like this fic and want to read more make sure to follow me for more updates.**

John returned home twenty minutes after Sal had left. He had burst through the door with a terrifying look on his face. Dean grimaced, he looked angrier than when he'd caught his oldest son smoking at the park on a school day. Dean had never smoked again after that.

"Where is he?" John demanded.

"Passed out on the couch," Dean told him, his own anger towards Sam had left long ago, replaced with worry.

"Passed out? How drunk was he?" John was striding into the living room; he'd been white-knuckled ever since his wife had filled him in over the phone. Once he caught sight of his youngest on the couch, mouth open and one arm dangling over the side, he raked a hand over his bearded face and sighed deeply before opening his eyes.

"Sam," he spoke in an exasperated tone, "Sam, wake up."

"He's out for the count, John," Mary came to his side and eased him away from their unconscious son, "Even if he woke up now I don't think he'd be sober enough for talking. We should wait till morning."

"I'm not letting him out of my sight," Dean clarified, "I'm watching him like a hawk tonight."

Mary smiled, "I was about to say I was going to put on some coffee."

She wandered into the kitchen and turned on the kettle, leaning against the counter with a sigh as the water boiled. Dean stayed standing behind the couch with his arms folded across his chest and John took a seat on one of the armchairs.

"You said on the phone that he'd said some things," he broke the silence, "What kind of things?"

Dean took a seat on the second couch as his mother came through with three mugs of coffee balancing on a tray, she set it down on the coffee table and they all took one and leaned back into their seats.

"Drunk people say all sorts of crap," Dean said, taking a sip of hot coffee, "But the things Sam said… and what he's going through right now… I'm pretty goddamn worried."

"Dean?" Johns eyes had widened slightly.

"Dean, he's grieving, he got drunk, what he said to that girl could have been the alcohol talking," Mary suggested. Dean stared at his mother for a moment wondering why she wasn't freaking out more, she'd freaked out about the pills and that had been nothing. But this was something.

Dean just shook his head, ignoring his mom and took a breath before filling John in on what had happened.

The sun was rising by 6.30 and they had barely spoken for hours. After Dean had told John what Sam had said he'd listened to his father ask more questions he couldn't answer. After a few minutes he'd given up and they'd fallen into silence before Mary had tried to reminisce their childhood, it had worked for a while and they'd laughed at a few stories. In the end they spent most of the early hours of the morning watching their youngest sleep.

By 7.00 Dean noticed his brothers nose twitching, then Sam furrowed his brow and groaned, clearly waking up to a horrendous hangover.

"Sammy?" he called, not bothering to keep quiet for his brother's sake and Sam groaned again at the sound. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes still screwed shut.

"Mmmm?" Sam shook his head slowly before freezing and his chest convulsed. He threw himself off the couch, scrambling his legs out of the blanket Mary had draped over him and staggered into the kitchen before throwing up in the sink. The whole time, the rest of the family sat silently, casting glances at each other now and then. John looked pretty angry again and Mary's face was completely guarded.

"Ugh," Sam's voice echoed in the sink and he spat a few times. Dean heard the water run and Sam rinsed out his mouth. He turned around and squinted at his family in the living room, probably noticing them for the first time, and he rubbed his temples. He dragged himself out of the kitchen slowly, looking truly awful, his hair was sticking out at all angles and his skin had taken on a sickly pallor.

"Sam, sit down," John's voice was hard. Sam stopped halfway towards the stairs and his shoulders dropped as he turned to face his family, shame evident on his face.

"Judging by the looks on your faces and the fact that last nights a blank I guess I did something stupid," he said timidly, his voice still groggy. He dropped back onto the couch with a sigh and he rubbed his temples again.

"God… Sammy, we had no idea where you were!" Dean couldn't stop himself, "You texted me, saying you coming home at 8pm, but you don't turn up until past midnight."

Sam cringed, "Sorry…"

"I was out looking for you," John growled, "For Gods sake I checked the hospital!"

Sam dropped his head shamefully, "I'm so sorry… if I could… I'm sorry."

John sighed, "I'm not mad at you, Sammy, I'm just mad at the situation."

"How did I get home?" Sam asked, scratching his head.

"Bartender brought you back, Sal was her name," Mary finally spoke up; "When we're done talking I think you should find a way to thank her."

"Done talking? What else are we talking about? I got drunk and came home late. I'm 22 years old, I'm pretty sure you were less bothered when Dean did it when he was 16."

"This is different," Dean argued.

"Why?"

John sighed, "What do you remember about last night, Sam?"

"Uh… I was on the bus and it stopped by the bars and I thought a drink seemed like a good idea."

"Why, Sammy?"

"I just did," Sam seemed to be getting agitated.

"Alright, free country I guess," Dean sank back into his chair, obviously handing the lead over to his father.

John leaned forward, "What happened after that?"

"I ordered drinks, I was talking to the bartender and then… I dunno, I can't remember."

"That's because you were hammered," John spoke in a sharp tone.

Sam shrugged, "Yeah and to be honest I think I'm still a bit drunk now. But I don't see what the big deal is, I'm sorry for worrying you. It won't happen again."

"No it won't," John clarified, he raked his fingers through his hair, "Sam, the girl that brought you home says you said some stuff."

"What stuff?" Sam seemed to wake up a bit, and Dean was sure he could see panic hiding under the surface.

"You said you'd been dreaming about people dying, you were convinced you could see the future and that Jess…"

Sam didn't say a word; he looked away, swallowing hard.

"You said Jess died on the ceiling and burst into flames."

Sam turned back to them with his head hanging low so that his bangs covered his eyes but Dean could clearly see the tears Sam was trying to hold back.

"I really was hammered huh?" he mustered a weak laugh and sighed, "Like I said I don't remember anything, I guess it was the alcohol talking."

"You sure?" Dean pressed.

"What do you mean?" Sam's head shot up, "Are you asking if I actually believed that? Seeing the future… that's insane. And Jess, she died in a fire caused by and electrical shortage."

"Sammy_"

"No! Dean, you think I'm crazy, I get that but none of you will ever understand what I'm going through right now," His voice rose with every word and he silenced himself as he got to his feet and headed for the stairs, "I'm going to sleep this hangover off and then I'll talk to you when you stop being a jerk."

They all stared after him; none of them had expected the conversation to go this way. Come to think of it, how did they think it would go? Sam would apologise, they'd forget the weird stuff he had said then go back to happy families. Sam stopped halfway up the stairs.

"And if any of you talk about Jess that way again I'll_" he shook his head mid-sentence, changing his mind about what he was saying, and sighed; "I'm going to bed."

Then he disappeared and they heard his bedroom door click shut. The rest of the family sat in silence, worry for their youngest sat heavily in the room. Mary cleaned up the coffee cups in silence and began scrubbing the sink clean. John left, the sound of his car revved in the driveway and he disappeared out of sight. He'd told Dean he had to get back to the garage to sort some things out but Dean knew that translated as 'I'm worried about Sam and I can't deal with this right now.'

John wasn't the most emotional man, Dean had rarely seen him cry and maybe that was because his father tended to walk away from the situation, take some time away before he came back to fix it. He always came back. Their mother was that warm blanket of love that had surrounded them their whole lives, no matter how mad she got at them they would always end up in her arms and she would kiss their foreheads, telling them she loved them no matter what. Dean wasn't sure who he took after, honestly he'd never been in many situations where he had to fix things or comfort someone. He knew his brother like the back of his own hand but right now he had no clue what to say to Sam.

_You think I'm crazy_. That's what his little brother had said to him. Dean could never think that about his brother, he could never think a single bad thing about Sam. Sure, he was worried but Sam was _Sam_; the geekiest, most annoying, intelligent and _sane_ kid he knew. That's why he was worried, his little brother was spouting out grimly insane stories when he was drunk, which put him on edge even more due to the fact that his girlfriend had died over a week ago. Sam said he didn't know what he'd meant, but Dean knew his brother and he knew he was hiding something.

Dean got up and decided to head up to his old room to sleep, having spent a restless night staring at his unconscious sibling. His room was quite bare; he'd taken most of his things to his apartment, which was closer to town, unlike Sam whose room was full of teenage junk that he'd left behind. Dean trudged over to his bed and climbed under the covers, deciding he would pick some stuff up from his place. Dean had a feeling he should stay with his family longer.

* * *

><p>Sam spent most of the day asleep. He'd gotten up once to throw up again only to stumble back to bed. By the time he was fully awake it was almost dark outside. He managed to find the bathroom and took and extremely long shower. He mostly just stood under the sprinkling of hot water, soaking up the heat; he almost forgot to actually wash his hair and nearly slipped trying to get back in to do so. Afterwards, he felt as fresh as he could and headed downstairs to find only Dean who was sitting in the lounge watching a football game on the TV. Despite his efforts not to disturb his brother, Dean's head turned when Sam stepped on a particularly creaky floorboard. Sam only earned a half-hearted smile before Dean turned back to the game. He took a seat on the other couch and rehearsed what he might say to Dean, when he finally opened his mouth Dean spoke first.<p>

"You want a drink?" he asked, not looking away from the TV, "I mean I'm not giving you a beer."

Sam stared at him, trying to rehearse a new thing to say. He was being too slow and Dean shot him a puzzled look. Sam didn't like feeling so awkward around someone he was so close to.

"I was gonna get another beer so I could get you some water if you want."

"Sure," Sam finally managed to blurt out. Dean nodded and got up. When his brother was in the kitchen Sam felt a sharp pain in his head and winced. Dean, who was busy rummaging through the fridge didn't notice.

"By the way, mom went to pick up some dinner from that Thai place you like…"

The pain intensified and Sam pressed his hands to his head.

"Dad's still at work but I think he'll be home soon…"

Sam clamped his mouth shut to keep from shouting out.

"No beers left," Dean sounded annoyed, "I think dad said there's some… basement… be right back…"

Dean's voice muffled and vanished and Sam bent over in pain, scrunching his eyes closed. He felt something shoot through him, it didn't feel like pain, it was more like losing consciousness but being completely lucid at the same time, if that was possible. He opened his eyes and watched his home melt away until he was somewhere else completely.

"_Be careful," a man, likely a father calls out._

"_I will," a girl replies and she closes the door behind her._

_They're at a cabin and the girl stands on a dock, a boy watches from a distance and she dives into the lake. She swims through the dark lake, water parting and splashing around her as she goes, before she breaks the surface for air and looks around. Everything is so quiet, barely the trees whisper in the wind. She dives back under and swims, coming back up for air again._

_Then Sam isn't just watching her, he's in the water with her. He can feel the cold water on his skin, he can feel it seep into his lungs but doesn't hurt. He approaches her from underneath and pulls her down._

_The surface bubbles but the girl doesn't come up again._

"'mmy… Sam?... Can you hear me?"

Sam comes back to his brother snapping his fingers in front of his face, his other hand on Sam's shoulder. He jolted back with surprise, still feeling the water in his lungs, he gasped and grabbed Dean's arm.

"Dean…" he coughed.

"Woah, are you okay?" Dean sounded alarmed. His brother rubbed his back and took a seat on the edge of the coffee table, leaning forward to look at Sam.

Sam managed a nod and he rubbed his chest, his brow furrowed. He'd had tonnes of recurring dreams like that but he never had one while he was awake. He never knew it hurt so much. His head was still throbbing and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

"You don't look okay."

"Yeah, I feel like crap. What happened?"

"I don't know, Sammy. I was gonna go to the basement to get another beer but the door was locked so I came back here to ask if you know where the key is. You didn't answer me and you had this weird look on your face, like you weren't even here. No matter what I did you wouldn't answer me. You were completely zoned out, dude. What do you remember?"

"You were talking to me then you were shaking me and snapping your fingers in my face."

Pretending you just blacked out was better than visions of the future, right? Sam slumped on the couch and shut his eyes, feeling his eyes water beneath his lids. Someone else was going to die. This time he was sure there was nothing he could do; there had been no sign, no landmark, nothing. Sam's distress must have been poorly concealed judging by the look on Dean's face.

"You sure you're okay? Hey, maybe I should call mom or dad, they could take you to the hospital."

Sam jumped up, "No!" he snapped.

Dean nodded hesitantly and disappeared, returning with a glass of water and some pain killers which Sam took gladly. He tossed the two pills into his mouth and chugged down the water.

"Dean, please can we not tell mom and dad?"

"Why?"

"I don't want them to worry."

"Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but we're already worried. I'm calling mom."

"No!" Sam shouted desperately, grabbing Dean's arm, "They won't understand."

"Understand what?"

Sam just shook his head and looked up, giving Dean his best puppy-dog eyes. _Damnit_, was written all over Dean's face.

"Please, Dean, if it happens again I'll tell you, I promise," Sam lied, "You can do what you want after that. Tell mom, tell dad, hell! You can tell the whole town."

"Sam, I don't know, this seems pretty serious."

"Dean," Sam was getting frantic, what if they found out? Would they believe him? "Please, I'm begging you!"

Dean hesitated, looking at his brother warily. He looked away when he spoke, "Okay, Sammy, I won't tell them."

Sam furrowed his brow, "You're lying."

"Sammy…"

"Dean, you never lie to me. That's why it's so easy to tell that you are right now."

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I need to call mom and dad about this."

Sam got up and stormed away from his brother towards the house phone and he ripped the cord out of the wall before running upstairs and shutting himself in his room. He pulled out the sketch book and began to draw. When he was done he sat back and stared at the image; bubbling water, at the centre was a girl's hand desperately reaching upwards. He scribbled notes on everything he could remember about the vision around the outside of the picture. _Cabin. Lake. Man, girl, boy. It pulled her down from underneath and drowned her._ _I know what I saw._

He sat quietly in his room for another forty minutes, Dean never bothered him. He was startled from his silence by a knock on the door.

"Sam? Honey?" It was his mom. Sam sighed and tried to ignore her. "Can I come in?"

"You're going to anyway."

He heard the door creak open but he didn't turn around. His mother placed a hand on his shoulder and spun him around gently. She sat on the edge of his bed with Sam opposite on an office chair. She stroked his cheek but Sam tried to stare at anything else but her. He didn't want her to see him like this. He was a freak.

"What's going on with you, huh?" She spoke soothingly with a kind smile on her face.

"Dean told you what happened," Sam mumbled, it wasn't a question.

"To an extent, you gave him quite a scare. You know we're all worried about you."

"Yeah. I don't like it. I feel like you're watching me all the time."

"Sam, please tell me what's going on," Sam stayed quiet and Mary took his hand, "Dean says something happened earlier, I'm guessing the phone got the blame?"

Sam looked up, she was still smiling at him.

"Dean didn't say what happened?"

"No, he told me something happened but it was up to you to tell me what."

"What if I don't want to tell you?"

"Then I'll be here when you're ready," she leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead and she pulled him into her arms, even at 6"4 he managed to fit in comfortably, "Sammy, promise me one thing?"

"Sure."

"If you think you can't handle things on your own or you think you might get hurt please tell me so I can help you."

"Sure."

Sam wasn't sure he would be able to keep that promise.

After a few more minutes in Mary's arms Sam was coaxed downstairs. He ate dinner with his family and they talked and joked like nothing had ever happened, like this was how things had always been. Sam joined in when he could but he was so distracted by what he had seen in his visions. Why did he have them? And more importantly how could he make them go away? With each death he witnessed a little bit of him was worn down and he felt so exhausted and lonely. He couldn't save anyone, who was he kidding? He couldn't even save Jess. He should have saved Jess.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean had hoped that the incident with Sam would have been the last. And it was. But now he wondered if he wanted his little brother to freak out again, maybe that would be healthier for him; to let it all out. Ever since Sam had zoned out on him he'd shut himself off. It was a gradual process, at first he was just quiet, only speaking when spoken to. Then he spent more time in his room, Dean wasn't sure he knew what Sam was doing in there for hours on end, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Eventually he stopped speaking to them all together, pushing food around his plate during meals in complete silence. The rest of them tried to make conversation, tried to make things less awkward but Sam wouldn't join in. even if they spoke directly to them he would just glance at them briefly before excusing himself.

Mom was seriously worried now. She'd tried to brush it off before, rationalising that Sam was grieving and he needed time. It had been more than a month since Jess died and Sam was getting worse. Dad was almost as absent as Sam, he would say he had a lot of work to do at the garage. Dean knew he was trying to escape, John was clearly uncomfortable with his son's behaviour. One night he'd screamed at Sam, begging him to snap out of it but Sam just stared at him, completely expressionless, before getting up and retreating to his room as he ignored John's yells.

Sam wasn't sleeping either. Dean could tell from the dark shadows around his eyes. The kid had lost weight too, having barely touched his food over the past few days. He never left the house, just stayed in his room. He had eventually added a lock to his door, shuffling around in the dead of night for a bolt and screws, after dean had walked in unannounced. Dean remembered the sheer panic on Sam's face, as though he'd expected someone other than Dean to come in his room.

Dean pondered his brother's odd behaviour during breakfast one December morning. He was shovelling down bacon as Mary cooked eggs in the pan.

"Have you spoken to your father?" she asked.

Dean shook his head with a sigh, "He says he's got a lot of work at the garage. Crappy excuse though. I work there and there's no more going on than usual. I think we both know why he's avoiding coming home."

"Have you talked to your brother?"

"What do you think?"

Mary shook her head and began to shuffle around the cupboards, "Where's all the salt gone? I swear I bought some yesterday."

"When was the last time he ate properly?" Dean glanced at the empty chair next to him.

"I left a plate outside his door last night, it was empty when I came back," she brushed a hand through her hair, "I don't know, he doesn't seem to want to eat around us."

"He doesn't was to do anything around us."

"Dean, I don't know what to do. I don't understand what's going on with him. I wish he'd just tell us."

"Yeah. Me too," Dean squeezed his mother's hand. He looked up when he heard the sound of the shower running, "At least he's taking a shower."

A thought hit Dean and he push out of his chair and headed for the stairs, "I'd like to know what he's hiding up there."

"Dean, wait!" Mary caught up to him and put a hand on his shoulder, "I don't know if this is a good idea; invading his personal space. We should talk to him."

"Mom, I don't think he's going to talk, do you?"

Mary shook her head and reluctantly followed him up the stairs. Dean guessed they would have to be quick, Sam seemed very determined to keep them away so it was likely he wouldn't leave his room unguarded for too long. He listened, pleased that the water was still running before turning Sam's doorknob as quietly as he could and pushing inside.

It looked like it normally did, if you ignored the mess. Sam was normally tidy but that trait seemed to have disappeared along with the rest of him. There were some worn clothes abandoned on the floor, the curtains were pulled shut and the bed was unmade, the covers twisted and hanging halfway off the bed. Dean frowned at the floor, catching sight of the line of salt he'd broken. He looked up to see his mother inspecting the salt which was poured along the window sill. She looked up a Dean, a serious look on her face.

"Dean, go back to the kitchen, now."

"What?" Dean shook salt off his shoe, "This isn't normal."

"I'll talk to him," she insisted, "Please, just stay out of it."

Dean ignored her and moved towards Sam's desk. It was completely covered in papers and books and pens. He brushed his fingers over the title of one of the books; _A study of the supernatural mythology_. There were multi-coloured strips of paper bookmarking it, Dean flipped it open, glancing at writing about demons and monsters. He put it down to look at Sam's notes, extremely detailed and terrifying. There were various newspaper clippings pinned on the wall of murders from all over the country. Sam had highlighted parts and linked them to photocopies from his books; pictures of monsters were paired with each clipping.

Dean took and involuntary step back, staring open-mouthed at the wall. He let himself drop into Sam's desk chair. He noticed the sketchpad on the centre of the desk and remembered that his parents had bought it for Sam years ago but at the time the kid didn't seem bothered about art anymore. He flipped the cover to the side and winced at the image of Jess burning to death in painful detail, he turned the page to find teenaged boys being eaten alive, there was a person drowning, people bleeding from their eyes, a plane crashing. Black eyes, frightened eyes, yellow eyes.

Dean remembered Yellow Eyes. _He watches me, Dean, he looks at me through the crack in my closet_. Dean remembered how much his brother had been afraid of that nightmare; Sam had gotten over it when he was eight so why was he drawing it now? As if looking for answers, Dean crept towards the closet and carefully nudged the door open.

"Oh God…"

He gazed at the symbols, which had been carved into the back of the closet. A knife lay by the skirting board amongst piles of scraped out paint and wall. Dean suddenly remembered his mother complaining about missing knife a couple of weeks ago but he'd forgotten about it until now. He also noticed the boxes of salt which were hidden in the corner along with bottles of water.

Dean turned to his mother, she dropped her shoulders. "Dean, please let me talk to him alone."

"Mom, Sam needs professional help."

"Dean, it'll be okay."

"Okay?" Dean snapped and gestured around the room, "Does this look okay to you?"

Mary took a breath and pulled him gently from the room, closing the door behind them. Dean could hear that the shower was still running. She cupped his cheek and smiled reassuringly.

"You have to trust me, Dean, you have to stay out of this. Let me talk to him."

"I know you don't want to believe it, Mom," Dean sighed, "I don't either but Sammy is really sick and we need to get him help. We should have seen this sooner… the way he was behaving just wasn't normal. What does the doctor say when he goes for check-ups?"

"I don't go into the office with him anymore; Sam insisted he'd be fine on his own. His doctor never brought anything up, just his injuries were healing."

Dean raked his fingers through his hair, holding back his tears. "We need to call his doctor, Mom."

"I said I would handle this," Mary's tone was harsh and Dean was taken aback, "Go downstairs and let me handle it."

"Will you call a doctor?" Dean pressed. When his mother avoided his gaze he set off down the stairs and picked up the phone. He heard the bathroom door open, then footsteps shuffling and his mother talking. Dean ignored it and flipped through the phonebook, finding Sam's Doctor's number and dialling it, knowing his mother wouldn't do it herself. She seemed quite insistent that Sam was fine. Dean knew his brother was not.

The phone picked up after three rings.

"This is Doctor Hayes."

"Hello, Doc? My name is Dean Winchester, my brother Sam is one of your patients."

"Ah yes. Sam mentioned his brother. How can I help you? Is Sam alright?"

"No Doc… Sam's not alright."

* * *

><p>Sam sat on the floor of the shower, letting the hot water spray and trickle down his back. He rubbed his eyes. He was so tired; he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept properly. It had started with the nightmares but his visions mostly hit him when he was awake now and Sam had shut himself away to make sure his family didn't see one. He still had nightmares, but they weren't the same as the other ones, it was like he was being spoken to in his dreams. They were always the same.<p>

A shadow of a man, all Sam could see were his yellow eyes staring at him. Then he spoke to Sam.

_You're special Sammy. I have big plans for you._

Then he would tell him to he wanted him to do something for him. Sam would always refuse, he didn't trust his nightmare. The shadow would smile, or at least Sam thought he was smiling, and he would tell Sam that he was his favourite. Sam always woke up around this part, panting and covered in sweat.

Sam was smart. He knew it all connected somehow; Jess' death, his visions and Yellow eyes. He'd decided to figure it out, stop it if he could. He researched, his gut pulling him towards monsters. He learned about as many things as he could, making trips to the library whenever his parents allowed. Apparently getting stone cold drunk means losing library privileges, which Sam thought was funny seeing as he was 22 years old. He collected books, they were all ancient and dust covered, some were hand written and Sam worked hard to absorb all of their contents. He connected his visions to different monsters, narrowing down to the most possible killers, learning about different myths and legends. One day he came across a book about demonology and an old illustration of a woman burning on the ceiling. He learned the names of Demons; Lillith, Abaddon, Cain, Azazel.

He found a bible tucked in the back of a bookshelf in the living room, he dusted it off and studied it, noting down the appearances of demons. He learned how to make holy water and how to pronounce the Latin properly for an exorcism. Sam avoided his family, knowing they wouldn't understand, but it didn't matter. He was already planning to leave, stocking up on salt and holy water. He was going to pack as soon as he got home; he was going to visit some of the psychics in the city. He wasn't totally convinced they were all genuine but he thought it was worth a shot. When he was packed he was going to take Dean's car (leaving a heart-felt apology not, of course) and head towards his most recent vision, hoping he might finally be able to save someone.

He shut of the water and wrung his hair out, grabbing the fresh clothes he'd laid out for himself. When he was dried and fully dressed he finally unlocked the bathroom door, checking the hallway for any signs of his family. When the coast was clear he ducked into his room and gasped when he found his mother sitting on the edge of his bed.

"What are you doing in here?" he spoke after straightening himself out.

"You left your door unlocked and Dean wanted to know what you were hiding," she glanced at his paper-covered wall, "You've been busy."

"I'll explain it to you, but later," Sam scooped up his backpack and started to shove his notes and sketchbook into it, "I know this looks crazy but I swear it's not."

"I know it's not, Sammy," She stood and reached a hand up to brush his hair from his eyes, "Sam, I need to tell you something."

Sam shrugged her off and walked out the door, she jogged after him.

"We can talk later; I've got stuff to do right now."

"Sam, please!"

"Sammy!" He looked up when his brother called out, pleading. Dean was in the sitting room, the house phone glued to his ear, "Yeah he's right here, Doc," he spoke into it.

Sam backed up, "Is that my doctor? Why are you calling my doctor?"

"Dean, I told you to leave it!" Mary hissed.

"Well, I couldn't… sorry, I wasn't talking to you, Doc… yeah, he's still here."

Sam gaped at them both, "You called my doctor? You think I've lost it don't you? I get what this looks like but you don't understand. Hell! I don't really understand but it's what I'm trying to do right now!"  
>He sighed, realising how insane he sounded, how else was he supposed to explain it?<p>

"I'll be back later," he finally said and headed out the door, ignoring his mother's calling and his brother talking frantically on the phone. Sam dashed down the street, ducking behind a neighbour's wall to avoid Dean checking the streets in the Impala. He took a shortcut out of his neighbourhood and pulled up his hood.

He went through a few fakes, mostly he was promised good fortune and a dark stranger in his future. Finally he found Missouri Moseley. She was set up in a suburb, very unlike the inner-city psychics. When she opened up she smiled at him, the smile dropped when she shook his hand.

"I'm so sorry about your girlfriend, Sam."

He was ushered inside and soon found himself sitting on a couch opposite to Missouri.

"You got yourself in quite the situation," she noticed, "I wish you'd come sooner, maybe I could have explained things to you."

"That's what you can do for me now," Sam pulled his work from his back and set it on the table, "I guess you know I have visions?"

She nodded, "Yes I noticed your abilities as soon as I set eyes on you."

Sam leaned over and flipped open his sketch book, "I've been recording what I've been seeing but every time I try to find out where they are it's too late."

"You can't always prevent things from happening," she gave him a sympathetic smile, she scanned the book, "You have quite a talent."

"Thank you," Sam mumbled absently.

"'I know what I saw'," Missouri read aloud, flicking her gaze up to him.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, "That was kind of like reassurance."

"So your visions always surround death? And always supernatural deaths…" she finished with the book and set it down on the table, brushing her fingers over Sam's research.

"You did this all yourself?" She sounded a little impressed, frowning a little when she read more, "Well those don't actually exist, I don't think… and you can't kill those with that…"

Sam sat up a little, "You know about these things then? Do you know what killed Jess?"

"I'm sorry, I don't. I seems like demon though, and a nasty one too."

"Do you know why?"

She shook her head sadly and studied him with her gaze, "You're not thinking of hunting these things?"

"Yes."

"Sam, I wouldn't advise becoming a hunter, they're angry, dumb and die before they're thirty."

"What's a hunter?"

Missouri sighed, "It looks like you've taught yourself a lot about the _other_ part of our world," she scanned his work again, "But you've made a lot of mistakes, most of this is myth. Now, I can tell you some things you need to know, I can point you to some people who know a bit more but… Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Please be careful. This is dark stuff you're going after."

"Miss Moseley, this dark stuff came after me."

Sam left Missouri's a couple of hours later, after forcing a sandwich down him and telling him to get some sleep. She'd filled in the blanks and correct a lot of his facts but Sam still didn't feel any more informed. He was completely new to all of this and he was completely terrified. Monsters were real and one of them had murdered his girlfriend. At least for now he was sure he wasn't going crazy, the same couldn't be said for his family.

Sam was hesitant to go home; walking slowly as he rehearsed how might explain it. He'd come up with three possible lies and one well thought out explanation. He would choose which one depending on his family's reactions. At the door he braced himself and opened it.

He could hear talking, all male voices and Sam peered round the doorway to find his father and brother sitting opposite each other.

"Mary hasn't found him?" John asked, rubbing his eyes.

"No, she hasn't called," Dean sighed heavily, "What's wrong with him, Dad?"

"I don't know, a doctor will tell us."

"You say his room, Dad, he's sick. You didn't even see the pictures he'd drawn. I thought something was wrong and I didn't do anything about it."

"Dean, you couldn't know. None of us did."

"Right, because you've been so supportive, Dad. Seriously, when was the last time you even tried to talk to Sam?"

"Dean."

"No, Dad, you've been hiding at your stupid garage. You knew something was up so you tucked tail and ran."

"I don't know how to handle this."

"And you think me and mom do?"

Sam tried to make for the stairs but he knocked the hallway table in his attempt and he hissed at the noise it made.

"Sammy?" Dean was on his feet. Sam had no chance of getting upstairs now, he'd be cornered. He dropped his bag and stepped into the living room.

"Hi," he shuffled awkwardly.

"Are you okay? Where the hell did you go?"

"I don't think it would help the situation if I told you."

"Sam, I'm sorry I haven't been around but I'm here now," John didn't quite look Sam in the eye but he shot him a weak smile, "Would you come sit down, please?"

Sam stared at them for a moment. He had two options; sit down and explain it to them or make a run for it. He decided on the former.

He took a seat on one of the free armchairs.

"We're worried about you, son," John spoke as softly as he could; "You haven't been acting like yourself.

_Oh. So this is where they were going with this._ "I'm not crazy," Sam told them.

"We don't think you are," Dean rubbed his neck, "But, Sam, sometimes things can mess with your head, you know, confuse you."

"I'm not confused."

"Yeah I know," Dean looked away and Sam stared at him.

"Dean, are you crying? Oh man, look I'm fine. I'm okay now. I get that I was a bit… standoffish. But things are good now I swear."

"Okay. That's good," John nodded, "Then you won't mind if we go talk to your doctor?"

"I don't need to see my doctor," Sam gritted his teeth.

"Then it won't matter if we see him."

"Dad, Dean please let this go," Sam begged, "You don't understand."

"Understand what, Sammy?" Dean turned back, searching his little brother's eyes, "At least tell us what's going on."

"I can't," Sam insisted, "I'm not sick. Please don't make me go to hospital. Dean, please."

"Sorry, Sam, but the doctor has ordered you to go in, you don't get a say."

Next thing Sam knew he was being pulled from his chair and out the door to their dad's car, Dean was gentle but his grip was firm and Sam knew it was too late, he was too tired to fight, realising he hadn't slept in two days and he'd been running on pure adrenaline for most of the day. No one talked during the car ride but Sam found words when they finally pulled into the hospital parking lot.

"Where's mom?"

"She was looking for you," Dean said as he opened the door for Sam, "I messaged her, she's on her way."

When they approached the entrance Sam noticed an orderly standing behind a wheelchair who nodded at Dean. Sam backed up.

"Wait," he eyed the chair warily, "You don't understand; if you lock me up people will die. I might be able to save them this time. Please, guys!"

"You'll be okay, Sam," Dean gently pushed his little brother into the wheelchair before turning to the orderly, "I can take him, you just show me the way."

"I can walk you know," Sam argued.

"Sam you've been swaying on your feet since you got home earlier." Sam frowned, _he had?_

Sam leaned into the chair and blinked, God he was tired. But he couldn't sleep, even if wasn't too afraid to try he'd still wake up from the nightmares. He dropped his head into his hands and wondered how he'd gone from Ivy League to mentally unstable with a dead girlfriend. The smell of antiseptic and the flood of white coats made it too real and Sam began to question himself. He'd read somewhere that people with psychotic mental illnesses didn't know they were ill, they thought their delusions were real. He had to admit that everything that had happened to him was crazy but he still believed it, he knew it. But what if that was the problem?

_No_, he told himself,_ you saw what you saw, remember?_

"Hello, Samuel," Sam looked up to find Dean had stopped pushing the chair and doctor Hayes was towering over him with a professional smile on his face. Glancing around, he noticed the sigh which read _psychiatric_. The doctor shook his hand and motioned to a door, "I have a colleague I want you to meet."

Sam had no choice but to follow, he gave one last glance at Dean and his Dad, noticing how defeated they looked, before they shut the door between them.

* * *

><p><strong>I know I promised more updates but I think I'm going to have to break it so I'm sorry. Also, from the beginning I decided I wanted Sam to end up in a psychiatric s office but I promise there will be hunting. Keep in mind this will be a long fic.<strong>

**Thanks to everyone who followed/ added to favourites and reviewed. I really appreciate it.**

**Also, yes, Mary was finally trying to tell Sam the truth but he was a bit sidetracked and later on they were both in the wrong place at the wrong time.**

**Until next time :)**

**Reviews are much appreciated!**


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